I 

I 


Charlie  Chaplin  as  camera-man 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S 
OWN  STORY 


BEING  THE  FAITHFUL  RECITAL  OF  A  ROMANTIC  CAREER, 
BEGINNING  WITH  EARLY  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  BOY- 
HOOD IN  LONDON  AND  CLOSING  WITH  THE 
SIGNING  OF  HIS  LATEST  MOTION- 
PICTURE  CONTRACT 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH  PHOTOGRAPHS 


IW] 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOI5BS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  1916 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


The  subject  of  this  biography  takes  great  pleasure 
in  expressing  his  obligations  and  his  thanks  to  Mrs. 
Rose  Wilder  Lane  for  mvaluable  editorial  assistance. 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH   &.  CO. 

PRIN7ERS   AND    BOOKBINDERS 

>BHOOKLYN,   N.  Y- 


P^J 


r7 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page' 

I  In  whicli  I  relate  my  experiences  up  to  the 
age  of  five;  and  describe  ttie  occasion  of 
my  first  public  appearance  on  any  stage    .       11 

II  In  which  I  make  my  first  public  appearance 
on  the  stage  and  my  first  success;  and 
meet   the   red-faced    man 19 

III  In  which  I  join  the  clog  dancers;  fail  to  get 

the  cream  tarts;   and  incur  the  wrath  of 

Mr.  Hawkins 26 

IV  In  which  I  feel  very  small  and  desolate;  en- 

counter once  more  the  terrible  wrath  of 
Mr.  Hawkins;  and  flee  from  it  into  the 
unknown  perils  of  a  great  and  fearful 
world 34 

V  In  which  I  have  an  adventure  with  a  cow; 
become  a  lawless  filcher  of  brandysnaps; 
and  confound  an  honest  farmer     ...       43 

VI  In  which  I  come  home  again;  accustom  my- 
self to  going  to  bed  hungry;  and  have  an 
unexpected  encounter  with  my  father     .       50 

VII  In  which  I  see  my  father  for  the  last  time; 
learn  that  real  tragedy  is  silent;  and  go 
out  into  the  world  to  make  my  own  way   .       57 

VIII  In  which  I  take  lodgings  in  a  barrel  and  find 
that  I  have  invaded  a  homo;  learn  some- 
thing about  crime;  and  forgot  that  I  was 
to  share  in  nefarious  profits     ....       CO 


Chapteb 
IX 


XI 


XII 


XIII 


XIV 


XV 


XVI 


XVII 


Page 


73 


81 


CONTENTS— Continued 

In  which  I  trick  a  Covent  Garden  coster;  get 
glorious  news  from  Sidney;  and  malie  a 
sad  trip  to  the  hospital 

In  which  Sidney  comes  home  to  find  father 
dead,  mother  too  ill  to  recognize  him  and 
me  half  starved  and  in  rags     .... 

In  which  I  vainly  make  the  rounds  of  the 
theatrical  agents;  almost  go  to  sea;  and 
at  last  get  the  chance  for  which  I  have 
long  been  yearning 88 

In  which  I  rehearse  the  part  of  the  boy  hero 
of  the  thrilling  melodrama.  From  Rags  to 
Riches;  and  start  off  on  a  tour  of  the 
provinces 96 

In  which  I  encounter  the  diflBculties  of  a 
make-up  box;  make  my  first  appearance 
in  drama;  and  learn  the  emptiness  of  suc- 
cess with  no  one  to  share  it     ...     .     103 

In  which  I  taste  the  flavor  of  success;  get 
unexpected  word  from  my  mother;  and 
face  new  responsibilities 110 

In  which  I  understand  why  other  people 
fall;  burn  my  bridges  behind  me;  and  re- 
ceive a  momentous  telegram     ....     117 

In  which  I  journey  to  London;  meet  and 
speak  with  a  wax-works  figure;  and  make 
my  first  appearance  in  a  great  theater     .     125 

In  which  I  play  with  a  celebrated  actor; 
dare  to  look  at  the  royal  box;  pay  a  pen- 
alty for  my  awful  crime;  gain  favor  with 
the  public;  and  receive  a  summons  from 
another  famous  star    .......     133 


CONTENTS— Continued 
Chapter  Page 

XVIII  In  which  I  refuse  an  offer  to  play  in  the 
provinces;  make  my  final  appearance  as 
Billy  at  the  Duke  of  York's  Theater;  and 
suffer  a  bitter  disappointment      .      .      .     140 

XIX  In  which  my  fondest  hopes  are  shattered  by 
cold  reality;  I  learn  the  part  played  by 
luck  on  the  Strand;  and  receive  an  unex- 
pected appeal  for  help 147 

XX  In  which  I  try  to  drown  my  troubles  In 
liquor  and  find  them  worse  than  before; 
try  to  make  a  living  by  hard  work  and 
meet  small  success;  and  find  myself  at 
last  in  a  hospital  bed,  saying  a  surprising 
thing 154 


XXI 


XXII 


XXIII 


XXIV 


XXV 


In  which  I  encounter  the  Inexorable  rules  of 
a  London  hospital,  causing  much  conster- 
nation; fight  a  battle  with  pride;  and  un- 
expectedly enter  an  upsetting  situation    . 


162 


In  which  I  attempt  to  be  serious  and  am 
funny  instead;  seize  the  opportunity  to 
get  a  raise  in  pay;  and  again  consider 
coming  to  America 170 

In  which  I  startle  a  promoter;  dream  a  great 
triumph  in  the  land  of  skyscrapers  and 
buffalo;   and  wait  long  for  a  message     .     178 

In  which  I  discover  many  strange  things  In 
that  strange  land,  America;  visit  San 
Francisco  for  the  first  time;  and  meet  an 
astounding  reception  in  the  offices  of  a 
cinematograph  company 186 

In  which  I  find  that  the  incredible  has  hap- 
pened;  burn  my  bridges  behind  me  and 


CONTENTS— Continued 
Chapteb  Page 

penetrate  for  the  first  time  the  myste- 
rious regions  behind  the  moving-picture 
film 194 

XXVI  In  which  I  see  a  near-tragedy  which  is  a 
comedy  on  the  films;  meet  my  fellow 
actors,  the  red  and  blue  rats;  and  prepare 
to  fall  through  a  trap-door  with  a  pie     .     201 

XXVII  In  which,  much  against  my  will,  I  eat  three 
cherry  pies;  see  myself  for  the  first  time 
on  a  moving-picture  screen  and  discover 
that  I  am  a  hopeless  failure  on  the  films  .  209 
XXVIII  In  which  I  introduce  an  innovation  in  mo- 
tion-picture production;  appropriate  an 
amusing  mustache;  and  wager  eighty  dol- 
lars on  three  hours'  work 217 

XXIX  In  which  I  taste  success  in  the  movies;  de- 
velop a  new  aim  in  life;  and  form  an  am- 
bitious project 225 

XXX  In  which  I  see  myself  as  others  see  me; 
learn  many  surprising  things  about  my- 
self from  divers  sources;  and  see  a  bright 
future  ahead .-     ...     232 

XXXI  In  which  the  moving-picture  work  palls  on 
me;  I  make  other  plans,  am  persuaded  to 
abandon  them  and  am  brought  to  the 
brink  of  a  deal  in  high  finance  .  .  .  239 
XXXII  In  which  I  see  success  in  my  grasp;  proudly 
consider  the  heights  to  which  I  have 
climbed;  and  receive  an  unexpected  shock     247 

XXXIII  In  which  I  realize  my  wildest  dreams  of  for- 
tune; ponder  on  the  comedy  tricks  of 
life  and  conclude  without  reaching  any 
conclusion 253 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S 
OWN  STORY 


CHAPTER  I 

In  -which  I  relate  my  experiences  up  to  the  age  of 
five;  and  describe  the  occasion  of  my  first  pubhc 
appearance  on  any  stage. 

Life  itself  is  a  comedy — a  slap-stick  comedy 
at  that.  It  is  always  hitting  you  over  the  head 
with  the  unexpected.  You  reach  to  get  the 
thing  you  want — slap  I  hang !  It's  gone !  You 
strike  at  your  enemy  and  hit  a  friend.  You 
walk  confidently,  and  fall.  Whether  it  is  trag- 
edy or  comedy  depends  on  how  you  look  at  it. 
There  is  not  a  hair's  breadth  between  them. 

When  I  was  eleven  years  old,  homeless  and 
starving  in  London,  I  had  big  dreams.  I  was 
a  precocious  youngster,  full  of  imagination 
and  fancies  and  pride.  ]My  dream  was  to  be- 
come a  great  musician,  or  an  actor  like  Booth. 
Here  I  am  to-day,  becoming  a  millionaire  be- 
ll 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

cause  I  wear  funny  shoes.  Slap-stick  comedy, 
what? 

Still,  there  is  not  much  laughter  in  the 
world,  and  a  lot  of  that  is  cynical.  As  long 
as  I  can  keep  people  laughing  good  chuckling 
laughs  I  shall  be  satisfied.  I  can't  keep  it  up 
long,  of  course.  The  public  is  like  a  child; 
it  gets  tired  of  its  toys  and  throws  them  away. 
When  that  happens  I  shall  do  something  else, 
and  still  be  satisfied.  I  always  knew  that  some 
day  I  would  have  my  share  of  the  spot-light, 
and  I  am  having  it,  so  after  all  I  have  realized 
my  ambitions. 

My  mother  is  proud  of  it.  That  is  another 
of  life's  slap-stick  comedies — ^that  my  mother, 
one  of  the  proudest,  most  gentle  women  in 
England,  should  hope  for  twenty  years  that 
some  day  I  would  be  a  great  tragic  actor,  and 
now  should  lie  in  an  English  hospital,  glad 
that  I  am  greeted  with  howls  of  laughter  when- 
ever I  appear  in  comedy  make-up  on  the  mov- 
ing-picture screen. 

When  I  was  two  or  three  years  old  my 
mother  began  to  be  proud  of  my  acting.  After 
she  and  my  father  came  back  from  their  work 
in  the  London  music-halls  they  used  to  have 

12 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

little  parties  of  friends  for  supper,  and  father 
would  come  and  pull  me  out  of  bed  to  stand 
on  the  table  and  recite  for  them. 

]My  father  was  a  great,  dark,  handsome  man. 
He  would  put  me  upon  his  shoulder  to  bring 
me  out,  and  I  did  not  like  it,  because  his  rough 
prickly  -cheek  hurt  me.  Then  he  would  set 
me  upon  the  table  in  my  nightgown,  with  the 
bright  lights  hurting  my  eyes,  and  every  one 
would  laugh  and  tell  me  to  sing  for  the  drops 
of  wine  in  their  glasses.  I  always  did,  and 
the  party  applauded  and  laughed  and  called 
for  more.  I  could  mimic  every  one  I  had  ever 
seen  and  sing  all  the  songs  I  had  heard. 

They  would  keep  me  doing  it  for  hours,  un- 
til I  got  so  sleepy  I  could  not  stand  up  and 
fell  over  among  the  dishes.  Then  mother 
picked  me  up  and  carried  me  to  bed  again. 
I  remember  just  how  her  hair  fell  down  over 
the  pillow  as  she  tucked  me  in.  It  was  brown 
hair,  very  soft  and  perfumed,  and  her  face  was 
so  full  of  fun  it  seemed  to  sparkle.  That  was 
in  the  early  days,  of  course. 

I  do  not  know  my  mother's  real  name.  She 
came  of  a  good  respected  family  in  London, 
and  when  she  was  sixteen  she  ran  away  and 

13 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

married  my  father,  a  music-hall  actor.  She 
never  heard  from  her  own  people  again.  She 
drifted  over  England  and  the  Continent  with 
my  father,  and  went  on  the  music-hall  stage 
herself.  They  never  made  much  money,  and 
my  father  spent  it  all.  Most  of  the  time  we 
lived  very  poorly,  in  actors'  lodgings,  and  my 
mother  worried  ahout  food  for  us.  Then  there 
would  he  a  streak  of  luck,  and  we  all  had  new 
clothes  and  lived  lavishly  for  a  few  days. 

My  brother  Sidney  was  four  years  old  when 
I  was  horn  in  a  little  town  in  France,  between 
music-hall  engagements.  As  soon  as  my 
mother  could  travel  we  went  back  to  London, 
and  she  went  to  work  again.  Her  stage  name 
was  Lillie  Harley,  and  she  was  very  popular 
in  English  music-halls,  where  she  sang  char- 
acter songs.  She  had  a  beautiful  sweet  voice, 
but  she  hated  the  stage  and  the  life.  Some- 
times at  night  she  came  into  my  bed  and  cried 
herself  to  sleep  with  her  arms  around  me,  and 
I  was  so  miserable  that  I  wanted  to  scream, 
but  I  did  not  dare,  for  fear  of  waking  my 
father. 

He  w^as  Charles  Chaplin,  the  singer  of  de- 
scriptive ballads.     His  voice  was  a  fine  bari- 

14 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

tone,  and  he  was  a  great  music-hall  success  and 
is  still  remembered  in  England.  ]My  mother 
and  he  were  always  laughing  and  singing  to- 
gether, and  my  mother  was  very  fond  of  him, 
but  a  little  afraid,  too.  \Vlien  he  was  angry 
she  grew  w^hite  and  her  hands  shook.  She  had 
thin  delicate  hands,  which  reminded  me  of  the 
claws  of  some  little  bird  when  she  dressed  me. 

In  spite  of  the  hit-and-miss  life  we  led,  al- 
ways moving  from  town  to  town,  and  my 
mother's  hard  work  on  the  stage  and  our  lack 
of  money,  she  took  pride  in  keeping  my  brother 
and  me  beautifully  dressed.  At  night,  after 
her  music-hall  work  was  done  and  the  party 
had  gone,  I  woke  and  saw  her  pressing  out 
our  little  white  Eton  collars  and  brushing  our 
suits,  while  every  one  was  asleep. 

One  day,  when  I  was  about  five  years  old, 
Sidney  and  I  were  playing  on  the  floor  when 
my  mother  came  in,  staggering.  I  thought 
she  was  drunk.  I  had  seen  so  many  persons 
drunk  it  was  commonplace  to  me,  but  seeing 
my  mother  that  way  was  horrible.  I  opened 
my  mouth  and  screamed  in  terror.  I  screamed 
and  screamed ;  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  not  stop. 

Sidney  ran  out  of  the  room.  My  mother 
15 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

did  not  look  at  me;  she  stumbled  across  the 
room  and  tried  to  take  off  her  hat.  All  her 
hair  came  tumbling  down  over  her  face,  and 
she  fell  on  the  bed. 

After  a  while  I  crawled  over  and  touched 
her  hand,  which  hung  down.  It  was  cold,  and 
it  frightened  me  so  I  could  not  make  a  sound. 
I  backed  under  the  bed,  little  by  little,  until 
I  reached  the  wall,  and  sat  there,  still,  staring 
at  my  mother's  hand. 

After  a  long  time  the  door  opened  and  I 
saw  my  father's  boots  walk  in.  I  heard  him 
swearing.  The  boots  came  over  and  stood  by 
the  bed.  I  smelled  whisky,  and  after  a  while 
I  heard  my  mother's  voice,  very  weak. 

"Don't  be  a  hysterical  fool.  You've  got  to 
work  to-night.  We  need  the  money,"  my 
father  said. 

"I  can't.  I'm  not  up  to  it.  I'm  sick,"  I 
heard  my  mother  say,  sobbing. 

My  father's  boots  stamped  up  and  do^vTi  the 
room. 

"Well,  I'll  take  Charlie,  then,"  he  said. 
"Where's  the  brat?" 

I  backed  closer  to  the  wall,  and  kept  still. 
With  no  reason,  I  was  terrified.     Then  the 

16 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

door  opened  again,  my  father's  boots  tramped 
out  and  down  the  stairs,  and  I  heard  my 
mother  calling  me.  I  came  slowly  out  from 
under  the  bed. 

!My  mother  said  she  wanted  me  to  go  on  the 
stage  in  her  place  that  night  and  sing  my  very 
best.  I  said  I  would.  Then  she  had  me  bring 
her  a  little  new  coat  she  had  made  for  me,  and 
a  fresh  collar.  She  still  lay  on  the  bed,  and 
my  chin  barely  came  above  the  edge  of  it,  so 
it  took  her  a  long  time  to  dress  me  and  to  get 
my  hair  combed  to  suit  her.  She  was  still  busy 
with  it  when  my  father  came  back. 

Then  she  kissed  me  in  a  hurry  and  told  me 
to  do  my  best.  My  father  took  my  hand  and 
we  started  to  the  music-hall.  We  were  at  Al- 
dershot,  a  garrison  town,  and  soldiers  were 
everywhere.  I  kept  tipping  my  head  back  to 
see  their  uniforms  as  they  passed  us,  and  my 
father  was  jerking  me  along  at  such  a  rate  my 
neck  nearly  snapped  in  two. 

We  were  late  when  we  reached  the  music- 
hall.  I  had  never  seen  one  before ;  my  mother 
had  always  put  us  to  bed  before  she  went  to 
work.  My  father  took  me  down  a  little  alley, 
through  a  bare  dim  place,  to  one  end  of  the 

17 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

stage.  I  saw  a  big  crowd  on  the  otiier  side 
of  it — just  hundreds  of  heads  massed  together. 
There  were  music  and  noise,  and  the  stage  was 
a  glare  of  light. 

A  girl  in  tights  and  shiny  spangles  came 
and  put  grease  paint  on  my  cheeks,  and  when 
I  wanted  to  rub  it  off  they  would  not  let  me. 
Then  it  was  time  for  my  mother's  act,  and  my 
father  faced  me  toward  the  stage  and  gave  me 
a  little  push. 

"Go  out  and  sing  Jack  Jones"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  II 

In  which  I  make  mj  first  pubhc  appearance  on  the 
stage  and  my  first  success ;  and  meet  the  red- faced 
man. 

I  A^^VLKED  uncertainly  out  on  the  stage.  The 
glare  of  the  lights  dazzled  me  so  I  stumbled. 
The  stage  seemed  a  great  empty  place,  and 
I  felt  little  and  alone.  I  did  not  know  just 
what  to  do,  but  my  father  had  told  me  to  go 
out  and  sing  Jack  Jones,  and  I  did  not  dare 
go  back  until  I  had  done  it. 

There  was  a  great  uproar  beyond  the  foot- 
liglits,  and  it  confused  me  more,  until  I  saw 
that  the  people  were  laughing  and  applauding. 
Then  I  remembered  my  singing  on  the  table, 
with  people  all  around  and  noise  and  light,  and 
I  saw  that  this  was  the  same  thing.  I  opened 
my  mouth  and  sang  Jack  Jones  with  all  my 
might. 

It  was  an  old  coster  song  my  father  had 
taught  me.  I  sang  one  verse  and  started  on 
the  second,  hurrying  to  get  througli.     I  was 

19 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

not  afraid  of  the  crowd,  but  the  stage  got  big- 
ger and  I  got  littler  every  minute,  and  I 
wanted  to  be  with  my  mother. 

There  was  a  great  noise  which  interrupted 
my  song,  and  something  hit  me  on  the  cheek. 
I  stopped  singing  with  my  mouth  open  on  a 
note,  and  something  else  hit  the  floor  by  my 
feet,  and  then  a  shower  of  things  fell  on  the 
stage  and  one  struck  my  arm.  The  audience 
was  throwing  them  at  me. 

I  backed  away  a  little,  terrified,  but  I  went 
on  singing  as  well  as  I  could,  with  my  face 
quivering  and  a  big  lump  in  my  throat.  I 
knew  I  had  to  finish  the  song  because  my 
father  had  told  me  to.  Great  tears  came  up 
in  my  eyes,  and  I  ducked  my  head  and  rubbed 
at  them  with  my  knuckles,  and  then  I  saw  the 
floor  of  the  stage.  It  was  almost  covered  with 
pennies  and  shillings.  Money !  It  was  money 
they  were  throwing  at  me! 

"Oh!  Wait,  wait!"  I  shouted,  and  went 
down  on  my  hands  and  knees  to  gather  it  up. 
"It's  money!    Wait  just  a  minute!" 

I  got  both  hands  full  of  it,  and  still  there 
was  more.  I  crawled  around,  picking  it  up 
and  putting  it  in  my  pockets   and  shouted  at 

20 


'I    'ImIm'I    <1..  a   t 


iiiig 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

the  audience,  ".Walt  till  I  get  it  all  and  I'll 
sing  a  lot  I" 

It  was  a  great  hit.  People  laughed  and 
shouted  and  climbed  on  their  seats  to  throw 
more  money.  It  kept  falling  around  me,  roll- 
ing across  the  stage,  while  I  ran  after  it,  shout- 
ing with  joy.  I  filled  all  my  pockets  and  put 
some  in  my  hat.  Then  I  stood  up  and  sang 
Jack  Jones  twice,  and  would  have  sung  it 
again,  but  my  father  came  out  on  the  stage 
and  led  me  off. 

I  had  almost  three  pounds  in  six-pemiy 
pieces,  shillings,  and  even  a  few  half-crowns. 
I  sat  on  a  box  and  played  with  it  while  my 
father  did  his  act.  I  could  not  count  it,  but 
I  knew  it  was  money,  and  I  felt  rich.  Then 
we  went  home,  where  my  father  set  me  upon 
the  bed  beside  my  mother,  and  I  poured  the 
money  over  her,  laughing.  She  laughed,  too, 
and  my  father  took  the  money  and  bought  us 
all  a  great  feast,  and  let  me  drink  some  of  the 
ale.  I  remember  how  I  crowed  over  Sidney 
that  night. 

My  mother  was  able  to  go  back  to  work  next 
day,  and  Sidney  and  I  were  left  in  the  rooms 
again.      There    was    a    quarrel    before    she 

21 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

went;  my  father  swore,  and  mother  cried  and 
stamped  her  foot.  She  said,  "No!  No!  No! 
He's  too  little  yet."  And  I  knew  they  were 
talking  about  me,  and  crawled  away  into  a 
corner,  where  I  kept  very  still. 

After  that  I  think  we  grew  poorer  and 
poorer.  There  were  no  more  parties  at  night. 
My  mother  would  come  in  alone,  and  when  she 
waked  me,  tucking  me  in,  I  felt  so  sad  it 
seemed  as  if  my  heart  would  break,  because 
her  face  did  not  sparkle  any  more.  Sidney 
and  I  played  about  in  the  daytime,  and  kept 
out  of  father's  way.  When  he  came  in  his 
face  was  red,  and  his  breath  was  hot  and  strong 
with  whisky.  He  used  to  throw  himself  on  the 
bed  without  a  word  to  mother  and  fall  asleep 
with  his  mouth  open.  Then  Sidney  and  I  went 
quietly  out  and  played  on  the  stairs.  [Sidney 
was  a  wide-awake  lively  young  person,  always 
running  about  and  shouting  "Ship  ahoy !"  He 
wanted  to  be  a  sailor.  I  could  not  play  with 
him  long  because  it  tired  me.  I  liked  to  get 
into  a  corner  by  myself  and  think  and  dream 
of  things  I  had  seen  and  what  I  would  do  some 
day — vague  dreams  of  making  music  and 
wearing  velvet  suits  and  bowing  to  immense 

22 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

audiences  and  having  cream  tarts  for  every 
meal  and  six  white  ponies  to  drive. 

The  worry  and  the  unliappiness  which 
seemed  to  grow  like  a  cloud  around  us  in  those 
years  made  me  sit  sometimes  and  cry  quietly 
to  myself,  not  knowing  why,  but  feeling  mis- 
erable and  sad.  Then  my  great  dreams  faded 
and  I  felt  little  and  lonely,  and  not  even  my 
mother  could  comfort  me. 

So  I  came  to  be  about  ten  years  old,  and  all 
my  memories  of  the  years  between  my  first  ap- 
pearance on  the  stage  and  the  day  I  met  the 
red-faced  man  are  vague  recollections  of  these 
dreams  and  hurried  trips  from  place  to  place, 
and  the  unhappiness,  and  my  mother's  face 
growing  sadder.  Then  I  remember  clearly  the 
night  I  went  with  her  to  the  music-hall  in  Lon- 
don and  ran  away  with  the  clog  dancers. 

]\Iy  mother  took  me  with  her  because  when 
it  was  time  for  her  to  go  to  work  she  could  not 
'  find  Sidney.  He  was  almost  fourteen  and 
played  a  great  deal  in  the  streets,  and  used 
to  go  away  for  the  whole  day  sometimes,  which 
worried  my  motlier.  Rut  she  had  to  work  and 
could  not  Ixi  with  us  or  keep  us  together.  It 
is  my  impression  that  my  father  was  making 

23 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

very  little  money  then,  and  spending  all  he  got 
in  bars,  as  he  was  a  very  popular  man  and  had 
many  friends  who  wanted  him  to  drink  with 
them.  I  know  that  we  were  living  in  very  poor 
lodgings,  and  my  mother  cried  sometimes  when 
the  landlady  asked  her  for  the  rent. 

I  remember  on  this  day  standing  beside  my 
mother  and  watching  a  troupe  of  clog  dancers 
who  were  working  on  the  stage.  Mother  was 
wearing  her  stage  dress,  waiting  to  go  on  for 
Her  act,  and  she  kept  asking  me  where  I  had 
seen  Sidney  last,  but  I  could  hardly  listen.  I 
knew  how  to  clog  dance,  for  Sidney  and  I  had 
done  it  with  the  boys  in  the  streets,  and  I  was 
impatient  because  my  mother  had  her  hand  on 
my  shoulder,  and  I  wanted  to  do  the  steps  with 
the  others.  I  squirmed  away  from  her  and 
began  dancing  by  myself.  I  did  all  the  diffi- 
cult steps  very  proudly,  and  when  the  music 
stopped  I  saw  that  my  mother  looked  proud, 
too.  I  looked  around  to  see  if  any  one  else 
was  admiring  me,  and  saw  the  red-faced  man. 

He  was  standing  behind  my  mother,  a  fat 
man,  with  a  double  chin,  and  a  wart  on  one  of 
his  lower  eyelids.    It  fascinated  me  so  I  could 

24 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

not  take  my  eyes  from  it.  When  my  mother 
went  on  for  her  act  I  still  stood  staring  at  it. 

"I  say,  you're  lively  on  your  feet,  young  fel- 
ler," he  said  to  me.  "Could  you  do  that  every 
day,  say?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  like  to  do  it,"  I  said. 

"Would  you  like  to  come  along,  now,  with 
a  nice  troupe  of  fine  little  boys  and  do  it  for  a 
fortnight  or  so?"  he  asked. 

"What's  the  screw?"  I  said,  looking  shrewd, 
as  I  had  seen  my  father  do.    He  laughed. 

"Three  six  a  week,"  he  said,  "all  for  your 
own  pocket  money.  And  I'll  buy  you  a  velvet 
suit,  and  you  can  eat  hearty — meat  pies  and 
pudding  every  meal." 

"And  cream  tarts?"  I  stipulated. 

"Up  to  your  eyes  in  cream  tarts  if  you  like," 
He  said.    "Come  now,  will  you  do  it?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered  promptly. 

"All  right,  come  along,"  he  said,  and  led  me 
out  of  the  music-hall. 


CHAPTER  III 

In  which  I  join  the  clog  dancers ;  fail  to  get  the  cream 
tarts ;  and  incur  the  wrath  of  Mr.  Hawkins. 

Waiting  just  inside  the  door  to  the  alley  were 
the  five  boys  who  had  been  clog  dancing.  They 
were  huddled  together,  not  playing  or  talking, 
and  when  the  red-faced  man  led  me  up  to  them 
they  looked  at  me  curiously,  without  a  word. 
Each  one  had  his  stage  dress  in  a  brown  paper 
bundle  under  his  arm,  and  in  the  gas  light  they 
looked  ragged  and  tired. 

"This  'ere's  the  new  little  boy  what's  a-going 
to  come  with  us,"  said  the  red-faced  man,  hold- 
ing my  hand  so  tight  it  hurt,  and  I  squirmed. 

The  other  boys  did  not  say  a  word.  They 
looked  at  me,  and  all  those  staring  eyes  made 
me  uncomfortable. 

"Speak  up,  there!"  roared  the  man  suddenly, 
and  they  all  jumped.  "Say  'Yes,  sir,  yes,  Mr. 
'Awkins,'  when  I  speak  to  you!" 

"Yes,  sir,  yes,  Mr.  'Awkins!"  they  all  said. 
26 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

"Now  step  up,  young  fellers;  we're  going 
to  our  nice  'ome  and  'ave  cream  tarts  for  our 
supper,"  Mr.  Hawkins  said.  He  nodded  to 
the  stage  doorkeeper,  a  silent  whiskered  man 
who  sat  smoking  a  pipe,  and  we  all  filed  out 
through  the  dark  little  alley  into  the  street. 

It  was  a  cold  foggy  night.  The  street  lamps 
were  weird  ghostly-looking  blurs  in  the  mist, 
and  our  steps  sounded  hollow  and  muffled.  I 
liad  never  been  out  so  late  before,  and  the 
strange  look  of  things  in  the  fog  and  the  emp- 
tiness of  the  streets,  with  only  a  cab  rattling  by 
now  and  then,  made  me  shiver. 

The  boys  walked  ahead,  and  Mr.  Hawkins 
and  I  followed  close  behind.  We  walked  for 
a  long  time,  till  my  legs  began  to  ache  and 
my  fingers  stopped  hurting  and  grew  numb  in 
Mr.  Hawkins'  hard  grip.  My  mind  was  all 
a-muddle  and  confused,  so  that  the  only  thing 
I  thought  of  clearly  was  my  mother,  and  how 
pleased  she  would  be  when  I  came  home  again 
rich,  with  three  and  sixpence  and  a  velvet  suit. 

We  came  at  last  to  a  doorway  with  a  lamp 
burning  dimly  over  it,  and  Mr.  Hawkins 
herded  the  boys  into  it.  A  very  fat  dirty 
woman  opened  the  door  and  said  something 

27 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

shrill  to  us.  Then  we  climbed  many  flights  of 
dark  stairs,  and  Mr.  Hawkins  let  go  my  hand 
to  open  a  door. 

A  damp  musty  smell  came  out  as  we  stum- 
bled in.  It  was  a  poor  dirty  room,  furnished 
with  two  beds  and  a  long  table  with  chairs 
about  it. 

"Well,  'ere  we  are  *omeI"  said  Mr.  Hawkins 
cheerf ullj^  "Now  for  a  nice  'ot  supper,  what  ?" 
The  boys  did  not  say  a  word.  They  sat  down 
and  watched  him,  looking  now  and  then  at  the 
door.  I  rubbed  my  aching  fingers  and  looked 
at  him,  too.  The  wart  was  still  there  on  his 
lower  eyelid,  and  I  could  not  take  my  eyes 
from  it. 

After  a  while  the  fat  woman  came  in  with 
our  supper — chops  and  ale  for  Mr.  Hawkins; 
plates  of  porridge  and  thick  slices  of  bread  for 
us.  The  boys  all  fell  to  eating  hungrily,  but 
I  pushed  my  plate  back  and  looked  at  ]Mr. 
Hawkins,  who  was  eating  his  chops  and  drink- 
ing his  ale  with  great  enjoyment. 

"Where  are  the  cream  tarts?"  I  asked  him. 

"Cream  tarts!  Who  ever  'card  of  cream 
tarts  for  supper?"  he  shouted.  "Cream  tarts!" 
He  chuckled  and  repeated  it  over  and  over, 

28 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

till  I  felt  ashamed  and  confused.  Then  he 
thrust  his  great  red  face  almost  against  mine 
and  roared  in  a  terrible  voice,  "That's  enough, 
young  feUerl  I'll  cream  tart  you!  I'll  jolly 
well  cream  tart  you  I"  I  shrank  into  my  chair, 
frightened. 

*'You  don't  want  cream  tarts,"  he  said. 
"You  want  a  caning.  You  want  a  good  hard 
caning,  don't  you?" 

"No,  sir,"  I  said.    "Oh,  no,  sir,  please." 

"Oh,  you  don't,  don^t  you?  Yes,  you  do. 
You  want  a  caning,  that's  what  you  want. 
Where's  my  cane?"  he  roared  in  a  frightful 
voice.  I  crouched  in  my  chair  in  such  terrible 
fear  I  could  not  even  cry  out  until  his  great 
hand  gripped  my  shoulder.  Then  I  shrieked 
in  agony. 

He  only  shook  me  and  flung  me  back  in  the 
chair,  but  from  that  moment  I  lived  in  terror 
of  him — a  terror  that  colored  everything  dur- 
ing the  day  and  at  night  made  my  dreams  hor- 
rible. The  other  boys  were  afraid  of  him,  too. 
When  he  was  with  us  we  sat  silent  and  wary, 
looking  at  him.  He  used  to  swing  his  cane 
as  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room  in  tlie 
evenings,  and  we  watched  it  in  fearful  fascina- 

29 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

tlon,  though  I  do  not  remember  that  he  ever 
caned  one  of  us.  It  was  the  constant  fear  of 
his  doing  it  that  was  so  terrible.  Sometimes 
when  he  had  locked  us  in  the  room  and  gone 
away  in  the  morning  the  boldest  boys  used  to 
make  fantastic  tlii-eats  of  the  things  they  would 
do  to  him  when  he  returned,  but  they  said  them 
under  their  breath,  with  an  eye  on  the  door, 
and  the  rest  of  us  quaked  as  we  listened. 

In  the  evenings  we  were  marched  out  before 
him  to  music-halls.  These  music-halls  were 
different  from  the  ones  my  mother  sang  in» 
They  were  large  rooms,  with  rough  wooden 
benches  and  tables  arranged  around  a  square 
in  the  center,  where  we  danced.  The  air  was 
thick  with  tobacco  smoke  and  heavy  with  the 
smell  of  ale  and  stout,  and  the  ugly  bearded 
faces  of  hundreds  of  men  staring  at  us  con- 
fused me  sometimes  so  that  I  could  hardly 
dance.  I  was  so  little,  so  weary  from  hunger 
and  the  constant  fear  of  Mr.  Hawkins,  that 
my  feet  felt  too  heavy  to  lift  in  the  hard  steps, 
and  my  head  swam  in  the  glare  of  the  lights. 
I  wanted  so  much  to ,  crawl  away  to  a  quiet 
dark  place  where  I  could  rest  and  feel  my 
mother's  hand  tucking  in  the  covers,  that  some- 

30 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIX'S  OWN  STORY 

times  I  sobbed  as  I  danced,  but  I  never  stopped 
nor  missed  a  step ;  I  did  not  dare. 

For  all  the  pain  and  fear  in  my  childish  heart 
I  did  the  steps  very  well,  so  that  often  the 
crowd  cheered  "the  young  'un"  and  called  for 
more.  Then,  while  they  shouted  and  banged 
their  mugs  of  ale  on  the  tables,  I  would  wearily 
dance  again  and  again,  until  all  my  body 
ached.  Sometimes  they  threw  money  to  me, 
and  then,  after  they  let  me  go  at  last,  Mr. 
Hawkins  would  go  through  my  pockets  for  it 
and  rap  my  head  with  his  knuckles,  under  the 
suspicion  that  I  had  concealed  some. 

All  my  memory  of  those  weeks  is  colored  by 
my  terror  of  him.  It  never  left  me.  When 
he  was  in  the  room  I  got  as  far  as  possible 
from  him  and  sat  quite  still,  staring  at  his  face 
and  the  wart  on  his  eyelid  and  his  great  cane. 
A\Tien  he  was  gone  I  sat  and  brooded  about 
him  and  shivered.  At  the  table,  hungry  as  I 
was,  I  could  not  swallow  my  porridge  under 
the  gaze  of  his  awful  eye. 

At  last  one  night  when  we  reached  the  music- 
hall  where  we  were  to  dance  we  found  it  in 
great  uproar.  The  audience  was  standing  on 
benches  and  tables  and  shouting,  "Slug  'imi 

31  ' 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

Slug  'im!  Slug  'im!"  in  horrible  waves  of 
sound.  In  the  center,  where  we  were  to  dance, 
two  men  were  fighting. 

]Mr.  Hawkins  pushed  us  before  him  through 
the  crowd  to  a  place  close  to  them.  I  saw  their 
strong  naked  bodies  glistening  under  the  gas 
flare  and  heard  the  terrible  smashing  blows. 
There  was  a  sweetish  sickening  smell  in  the  air 
which  made  me  feel  ill,  and  the  roar  of  the 
crowd  terrified  me.  Then  one  of  the  men 
reeled,  staggered  backward  and  fell.  He  was 
close  to  me  and  I  saw  his  face,  a  shapeless  mass 
of  flesh,  with  no  eyes,  covered  with  blood,  with 
blood  running  from  the  open  mouth.  The  hor- 
ror of  it  struck  my  childish  mind  so,  after  all 
those  weeks  of  terror,  that  I  fainted. 

I  was  revived  in  time  to  dance,  and  the 
crowd,  excited  by  the  fight,  threw  us  a  great 
deal  of  money.  When  he  searched  my  pockets 
at  the  door,  Mr.  Hawkins  stooped  low,  put  his 
great  face  almost  against  mine  and  swore,  but 
he  did  not  rap  me  with  his  knuckles.  I  was 
in  a  kind  of  stupor,  quivering  all  over,  and 
could  not  walk,  so  he  put  me  up  on  his  shoul- 
der, as  my  father  used  to  do,  and  started  home. 

A  long  time  afterward  I  knew  I  was  stand- 
32 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

ing  between  his  knees,  while  he  tipped  my  head 
back  and  looked  closely  at  me. 

"Hingratitude,  that's  wot  it  is,"  he  said 
fiercely.  "Speak  up,  young  'un.  Don't  you 
'ave  a-plenty  to  eat  of  good  'olesome  porridge? 
Don't  you  'ave  a  good  kind  master  wot  never 
canes  yer?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir,"  I  said,  in  a  panic  of  fear. 

"Then  don't  you  go  a-being  ungrateful,  and 
a-dying  on  my  'ands,  like  young  Jim  done," 
he  roared  at  me  furiously.  "You  'ear?  Stub- 
bornness, that's  wot  it  is.    I  won't  'ave  it!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

In  which  I  feel  very  small  and  desolate;  encounter 
once  more  the  terrible  wrath  of  Mr.  Hawkins ;  and 
flee  from  it  into  the  unknown  perils  of  a  great 
and  fearful  world. 

"It's  stubbornness,  that's  wot  it  is!  I  won't 
'ave  it!"  ]Mr.  Hawkins  said  fiercely,  and 
reached  for  his  cane. 

I  struggled  in  the  grip  of  his  great  knees, 
and  cried  in  terror  that  I  did  not  mean  it,  I 
was  sorry,  I  would  be  good.  I  begged  him  not 
to  beat  me.  Even  when  he  let  me  go  I  could 
not  stop  screaming. 

It  must  have  been  some  time  next  day  that 
I  woke  in  a  hot  tumbled  bed.  I  thought  my 
mother  had  been  there,  with  her  hair  falling 
over  the  pillow  and  her  face  all  sparkling  with 
fun.  I  put  up  my  arms  with  a  cry,  and  she 
was  gone.  A  strange  ugly  girl,  with  a  broom 
in  her  hand,  was  leaning  over  me. 

"Coom,  coom,"  she  said  crossly,  shaking  my 
shoulder.  "Wark's  to  be  done.  No  time  to  be 
lyin'  a-bed." 

34 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  struggled  to  get  away  from  her  heavy 
hand,  and  sobbed  that  I  wanted  my  mother, 
I  wanted  to  go  home.  I  was  so  little  and  so 
miserable  and  wear}'-  that  the  grief  of  missing 
my  mother  seemed  almost  to  break  my  heart. 

"She's  gone,"  the  girl  said,  still  pulling  at 
me.  "She  willna  be  vexed  wi'  a  girt  boy,  weep- 
ing like  a  baaby." 

"No !  No !"  I  screamed  at  her.  "jNIy  mother 
hasn't  gone  away.    ]My  mother  hasn't  left  me." 

"Yus,  she  has,"  the  girl  told  me.  "She's 
gone." 

I  let  her  lift  me  from  the  bed  then,  and  sat 
limp  on  the  floor  where  she  put  me,  leaning 
my  aching  head  against  the  bedpost.  All  my 
childish  courage  and  hope  was  gone,  and  I  was 
left  very  little  and  alone  in  a  terrible  black 
world  where  my  motlier  did  not  care  for  me 
any  more.  I  sat  there  desolate,  with  great 
tears  running  down  my  cheeks,  and  did  not 
wish  to  stir  or  move  or  ever  see  any  one  again. 

Long  hours  later,  after  it  had  been  dark  a 
long  time,  ]\Ir.  Hawkins  came  in  with  the  boys, 
and  I  had  no  strength  even  to  fear  him.  Wlien 
he  roared  at  me  I  still  sat  tliere  and  only  trem- 
bled and  turned  my  head  away.     I  remember 

35 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

his  walking  up  and  down  and  looking  at  me 
a  long  time,  and  I  remember  his  holding  a  mug 
of  ale  to  my  lips  and  making  me  swallow  some, 
but  everything  was  confused  and  vague,  and 
I  did  not  care  for  anything,  only  wanting  to  be 
left  alone. 

It  may  have  been  the  next  day,  or  several 
days  later,  that  we  were  all  walking  over  rough 
cobbled  streets,  veiy  early  in  the  morning,  in 
a  cold  thick  fog.  I  walked  unsteadily,  because 
my  legs  felt  limp,  and  Mr.  Hawkins  held  my 
hand  tight,  so  that  my  arm  ached.  We  were 
all  going  to  a  fair  in  the  country.  I  was  in- 
terested in  that,  because  my  mother  had  once 
taken  Sidney  and  me  to  a  meadow,  where  we 
all  played  in  the  grass  and  fomid  cowslips  and 
ate  cakes  from  a  basket  under  a  tree. 

After  we  had  walked  a  long  time  Mr.  Haw- 
kins took  us  into  an  eating-house,  where  we 
had  a  breakfast  of  sausages  and  I  drank  a  big 
mug  of  hot  coffee.  When  we  came  out  the 
sun  was  shining  and  we  walked  down  a  wide 
white  road,  past  many  great  houses  with  grass 
and  trees  about  them.  I  had  never  imagined 
such  places,  and  with  the  delight  of  seeing 
them,  and  the  sunlight  and  the  good  breakfast, 

36 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  felt  better,  and  thought  I  could  walk  by  my- 
self if  ;Mr.  Hawkins  would  let  go  my  hand, 
though  I  dared  not  speak  of  it. 

As  we  walked  on,  the  road  grew  busy  with 
carriages  coming  and  going  and  farmers'  wag- 
ons coming  in  to  market,  and  after  a  time  a 
coster's  cart  overtook  us,  and  Mr.  Hawkins 
bargained  with  the  driver  to  carry  us. 

Then  I  began  to  be  almost  happy  again,  as 
I  sat  in  the  back  of  the  cart  with  my  legs  dan- 
gling and  saw  the  road  unrolling  backward  be- 
tween the  wheels.  It  was  a  warm  morning; 
the  road  was  thick  with  white  dust,  and  the 
smell  of  it  and  of  the  green  fields,  to  which 
we  came  presently,  and  all  the  country  sights 
and  sounds,  were  pleasant.  We  drove  for  miles 
between  the  hedgerows,  and  I  grew  quite  ex- 
cited looking  for  the  five-barred  gates  in  them, 
through  which  we  caught  glimpses  of  the 
farms  on  either  side.  So  at  last  we  came  to 
Barnett,  where  the  fair  was  to  be. 

The  village  looked  bright  and  clean,  with 
red  brick  buildings  standing  close  to  the  nar- 
row street,  and  shining  white  cobblestones. 
We  all  climbed  down  before  the  inn,  and  I 
looked  eagerly  for  meadows,  but  there  were 

37 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

none.  JMr.  Hawkins  hurried  us  to  the  field 
where  the  fair  had  already  begun.  It  was 
crowded  with  tents  and  people,  and  there  was 
a  great  noise  of  music  and  shouting  and  cries 
of  hokey-pokey  men  and  venders. 

"Step  lively  now,  young  'uns,"  ordered  Mr. 
Hawkins  in  an  awful  voice.  "  MJstle  into  them 
velveteen  smalls,  and  get  your  jackets  on  in  a 
'urry,  or  I'll  show  you  wot's  wot!" 

We  dressed  in  mad  haste  in  a  little  tent, 
and  he  had  us  into  a  larger  one  and  hard  at 
work  dancing  in  no  time.  We  heard  his  voice 
outside,  shouting  loud  over  the  uproar  of  the 
crowd,  "  'Ere!  'Ere!  This  way  for  the  Lun- 
non  clog  dancers!  Only  a  penny!  See  the 
grite  Lunnon  clog  dancers!"  A  few  people 
came  in,  then  more,  and  more,  till  the  tent  was 
full  of  them,  coming  and  going. 

It  was  hard  work  dancing;  my  feet  felt 
heavy  to  lift  and  my  stomach  ached  with  hun- 
ger, but  I  did  not  dare  stop  a  minute.  I 
danced  on  and  on,  in  that  hot  and  stuffy  place, 
with  a  fearful  e3^e  on  the  tent-flap,  where  now 
and  again  Mr.  Hawkins'  red  face  appeared 
and  glared  at  us,  and  we  saw  his  hand  with 
the  cane  gripped  in  it. 

38 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

Over  and  over  we  did  the  steps,  while  the 
tent  grew  hotter,  and  laughing  people  came 
and  stared  and  went  away,  until  my  breath 
came  in  gasps  and  my  head  swam  and  grew 
large,  and  larger,  and  then  very  tiny  again, 
in  a  most  confusing  manner.  Then  everything 
went  black  and  I  must  have  fallen,  for  Mr. 
Hawkins  was  shaking  me  where  I  lay  on  the 
ground,  and  saying  to  some  one,  "  'E's  all 
right.  'E's  only  wilful;  'e  wants  a  good  can- 
ing, 'e  does.'* 

After  that  I  was  dancing  again,  but  I  did 
not  see  the  crowd  any  more.  I  only  danced, 
and  longed  for  the  time  when  I  might  stop. 

It  came  after  a  long,  long  while.  The  tent 
was  cooler  and  empty  when  Mr.  Hawkins  came 
in  and  took  me  by  the  shoulder,  and  my  head 
cleared  so  that  I  saw  I  need  dance  no  more. 
My  weary  muscles  gave  way  and  I  sat  on  the 
floor,  looking  at  him  fearfully  while  he  willed 
his  face  with  his  handkerchief. 

"You,  with  ycr  woite  faces!"  he  roared 
hoarsely.  "  'Ow  many  times  'ave  I  told  yer 
to  look  cheery  while  you  dance?  I've  a  mind 
to  cane  tlie  lot  of  yer!"  We  trembled.  "JUit 
I   won't,"   he   said,    after   a   dreadful   j^ause. 

89 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

"We're  all  a-goin'  hover  to  the  inn  and  'ave 
bread  and  cheese." 

He  took  my  hand  again  and  we  dragged 
wearily  over  to  the  inn,  a  bright  clean  place, 
with  sawdust  on  the  floor.  It  was  crowded 
with  men,  and  they  greeted  us  with  loud  voices 
as  we  came  in, 

"  'Ere's  the  Lunnon  clog  dancers,  come  to 
dance  for  bread  and  cheese,"  Mr.  Hawkins  said 
cheerfully.  He  looked  at  the  barmaid,  who 
nodded,  and  a  place  was  cleared  for  us  to  begin 
our  weary  dancing  again. 

My  tired  little  legs  would  hardly  hold  me 
up,  and  I  stumbled  in  the  steps.  Under  the 
terrible  eye  of  Mr.  Hawkins  I  did  my  best, 
panting  with  fear,  but  I  could  not  dance.  I 
stopped  at  last,  and  leaned  against  the  bar. 
Mr.  Hawkins  reached  for  me,  but  as  I  shrank 
back  with  a  cry  I  felt  warm  arms  around  me. 
It  was  the  barmaid  who  held  me,  and  after 
one  look  at  her  red  cheeks,  so  close,  I  began 
to  cry  on  her  shoulder. 

"Pore  little  dear,  'e*s  tired,"  she  said,  hold- 
ing me  tight  from  Mr.  Hawkins.  "  'E  shall 
'ave  his  bread  and  cheese  without  'is  dancing." 

40 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

"  'E's  a  ■vvilful,  perverse  hun grateful 
creetur!"  Mr.  Hawkins  said,  but  she  did  not 
seem  to  mind.  She  took  me  behind  the  bar 
and  gave  me  a  scorching  drink  of  something 
and  a  great  piece  of  bread  which  I  was 
too  weary  to  eat.  Afterward  Mr.  Hawkins 
took  me  back  to  the  fair,  jerking  me  furiously 
along  b}^  the  arm.  He  took  me  to  the  little 
tent  where  we  had  dressed  and  put  me  inside. 

"I'll  tike  the  'ide  off  you  when  I  come  back," 
he  said  hoarsely,  bending  to  bring  his  red  face 
close  to  mine.  "I'll  give  you  a  caning  wot  is 
a  caning,  I  will.  I've  been  too  gentle  with  you, 
I  'ave.    You  stay  'ere,  and  wait." 

With  these  dreadful  words  and  a  horrible 
oath  he  went  away,  and  I  could  hear  him  shout- 
ing before  the  other  tent  above  the  sounds  of 
the  evening's  merrymaking.  "'Ere!  'Ere! 
This  w^ay  to  the  Lunnon  clog  dancers!  Only 
a  penny!" 

I  was  left  in  such  a  state  of  misery  and 
WTetchedness,  shaking  with  such  fear,  that  not 
even  my  great  weariness  would  let  me  sleep. 
I  sat  there  in  the  dark  for  a  long  time,  trem- 
bhng,  and  then,  driven  by  terror  of  Mr.  Ilaw- 

41 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

kins'  return,  I  crawled  beneath  the  edge  of  the 
tent  and  set  out  bhndly  to  get  beyond  the  reach 
of  his  voice. 

When  I  came  to  the  edge  of  the  crowd  I  ran 
as  fast  as  I  could. 


^ 


Charlie   ('liai)liii 


CHAPTER  V 

In  which  I  have  an  adventure  with  a  cow;  become  a 
lawless  filcher  of  brandysnaps ;  and  confound  an 
honest  farmer. 

I  RAN  for  a  long  time  in  the  darkness,  blindly, 
not  caring  where  I  went,  only  that  I  escaped 
from  Mr.  Hawkins.  The  pounding  of  my 
heart  shook  me  as  I  plunged  across  fields  and 
scrambled  under  gates  in  my  way,  until  at  last 
I  came  to  a  corner  of  two  hedges,  and  had  no 
strength  to  go  farther.  I  curled  myself  into 
as  small  a  space  as  possible,  close  to  the  hedges, 
and  lay  there.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  was 
hidden  and  safe,  and  I  was  quite  content  as  I 
went  to  sleep. 

Early  in  the  morning  I  was  awakened  by 
a  curious  swishing  noise,  and  saw  close  to  my 
face  the  great  staring  eyes  of  a  strange  animal. 
It  was  a  cow,  but  I  had  never  seen  one,  and  I 
thought  it  was  one  of  the  giants  my  mother 
had  told  about.    I  saw  Its  tongue,  lapping  up 

43 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

about  its  nose,  and  as  I  stared  it  licked  my 
face.  The  moist  sandpapery  feeling  of  it 
startled  me  and  I  howled. 

At  the  sound  it  backed  away  with  a  snort, 
and  so  we  remained,  staring  at  each  other  for 
a  long  time.  It  was  a  bright  morning,  with 
birds  singing  in  the  hedgerows,  and  if  it  had 
not  been  for  my  hunger  and  an  uneasiness  lest 
the  cow  meant  to  lick  me  again  I  would  have 
been  quite  happy,  so  far  from  ]Mr.  Hawkins. 

Then  between  me  and  the  cow  came  a  woman 
with  a  big  bucket  on  her  arm,  carrying  a  three- 
legged  stool.  Quite  fearlessly  she  slapped  the 
great  animal,  and  it  turned  meekly  and  stood, 
while  she  sat  on  the  stool  and  began  to  milk. 
It  was  the  strangest  thing  I  had  ever  seen, 
and  I  went  over  to  her  side  and  stood  watching 
the  thin  white  stream  pattering  on  the  bottom 
of  the  bucket.  She  gave  a  great  start  and  cried 
out  in  surprise  when  she  saw  me. 

"Lawk  a  mussy!"  she  said,  and  sat  with  her 
mouth  open.  I  must  have  been  a  strange  sight 
in  that  farmyard,  a  thin  little  cliild — for  I  was 
only  ten  and  very  small  for  that  age — in  vel- 
veteen smalls  and  a  round  jacket  with  tinsel 
braid  on  it. 

44 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

"Where  did  you  coom  from?"  she  asked. 

"I  come  from  London.  I  am  an  actor,"  I 
said  importantly.  "What  are  you  doing?"  and 
pointed  to  the  hucket. 

She  laughed  at  that  and  seeing,  I  suppose, 
that  I  looked  hungry,  she  held  the  bucket  to 
my  lips,  and  I  tasted  the  fresh  warm  milk.  I 
drank  every  drop,  in  great  delight.  I  had 
never  tasted  anything  so  delicious  before. 

"Are  you  hungry?"  she  asked  me,  and  I  told 
her  solemnly,  believing  it,  that  I  had  had  noth- 
insr  to  eat  for  a  week.  Her  consternation  at 
that  was  so  great  she  dropped  the  bucket,  but 
hastily  picking  it  up,  she  sat  down  and  milked 
again  until  she  had  another  huge  draught  for 
me.  Then  she  finished  the  milking  in  a  hurry 
and  took  me  into  the  farmliouse  kitchen,  a 
bright  place,  with  shining  pans  on  the  wall  and 
a  pleasant  smell  of  cooking. 

The  tale  I  told  the  farmer's  wife  I  do  not 
remember,  but  she  took  me  up  in  her  arms,  say- 
ing, "Poor  httle  lad!  Poor  little  lad!"  over 
and  over,  while  she  felt  my  thin  arms,  and  I 
squirmed,  for  I  did  not  like  to  be  pitied,  and 
besides,  I  saw  the  breakfast  on  the  table  and 
wished  she  would  let  me  have  some.    When  she 

45 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

set  me  down  before  it  at  last  I  could  hardly 
wait  to  begin,  while,  to  my  surprise,  she  tied 
a  napkin  around  my  neck. 

It  was  a  mighty  breakfast — porridge  and 
eggs,  with  a  rasher  of  bacon  and  marmalade, 
and  the  maid  who  had  milked  the  cow  was  cut- 
ting great  slices  of  crusty  bread  and  butter. 
But  before  I  had  taken  up  a  spoon  the  farmer 
came  in.  He  was  a  big  bluff  man,  and  at  sight 
of  me  he  began  to  ask  questions  in  a  loud  voice. 

"Well,  my  lad,  where  did  you  come  from?" 
he  said. 

"From  the  fair,  sir,"  I  answered,  eager  to 
be  at  the  food,  and  not  thinking  what  I  said. 

"Oh,  'e's  the  little  lad  wi'  the  clog  dancers 
I  told  you  of,  Mary,"  he  said.  "Gi'  him  break- 
fuss,  if  you  like,  and  I'll  be  takin'  him  back  to 
his  master  as  I  go  to  the  village." 

At  the  terrible  thought  of  Mr.  Hawkins, 
whom  I  had  almost  forgotten,  panic  took  me. 
I  sat  there  trembling  for  a  second,  and  then, 
before  a  hand  could  be  reached  to  stay  me,  I 
leaped  from  my  chair  and  fled  from  the  kitchen, 
through  the  farmyard  and  out  the  gate,  the 
napkin  fluttering  at  my  neck.  A  long  way 
down  the  lane  I  stopped,  panting,  and  looked 

46 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

to  see  if  any  one  was  following  me.  No  one 
was. 

I  wandered  on  for  some  time,  growing  hun- 
grier with  every  step  and  regretting  passion- 
ately the  loss  of  that  great  breakfast  before  I 
saw  the  girl  with  the  brandysnaps.  She  was  a 
fat  round-cheeked  little  girl,  with  her  hair  in 
braids,  and  she  was  swinging  on  a  gate,  hum- 
ming to  herself  and  nibbling  a  cookie.  Others 
were  piled  on  the  gatepost  beside  her.  I 
stopped  and  looked  eagerly  at  them  and  at 
her.  Badly  as  I  wanted  some  I  would  not  ask 
for  them,  and  she  looked  at  me  round-eyed  and 
said  nothing. 

So  we  eyed  each  other,  until  finally  she  made 
a  face  and  stuck  out  her  tongue  at  me.  Then 
she  opened  her  mouth  wide  and  popped  in  a 
brandysnap.  It  was  too  much.  With  a  yell 
I  sprang  at  her  and  seized  the  cookies.  She 
tumbled  from  the  gate,  and  as  she  fell  she 
howled  appallingly.  At  the  sound  a  great 
shaggy  dog  came  bounding,  and  I  fled  in 
panic,  clutching  the  brandysnaps. 

The  dog  pursued  me  as  I  ran,  in  great  leaps, 
my  ears  filled  with  the  fearful  sound  of  his 
barks.     I  sped  around  a  turn  in  the  lane  and 

47 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

saw  before  me  a  farmer's  wagon  going  slowly 
along.  The  dog  was  hard  on  my  heels.  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  his  great  red  mouth  and 
tongue.  With  a  last  panting  effort  I  clam- 
bered upon  the  tail  of  the  wagon  and  dived 
beneath  the  burlap  which  covered  the  load. 

There,  lying  in  the  dimness  among  green 
vegetables,  I  consumed  the  brandysnaps  to  the 
last  crumb,  listening  to  the  farmer's  bewildered 
expostulation  with  the  honest  dog,  which  con- 
tinued barking  at  the  wagon  until  the  farmer 
dismounted  and  pursued  him  down  the  road 
with  his  whip.  Then,  as  the  wagon  went  on- 
ward again,  I  ate  a  number  of  radishes  and  a 
raw  potato,  and  experimentally  bit  the  squash 
and  marrows  until,  with  a  contented  stomach, 
I  curled  up  among  the  lettuce  and  fell  asleep. 

I  was  awakened  by  the  stopping  of  the 
wagon  and  heard  the  farmer,  busied  with  the 
horse,  exchanging  jovial  greetings  with  other 
fgruff  voices.  Undecided  what  to  do,  I  lay  still 
until  I  heard  him  speaking  loudly  almost  over 
my  head. 

"I  lay  these  are  the  finest  vegetables  ever 
come  to  market,"  he  said  proudly,  and  tore  the 
burlap  covering  from  me.    I  sat  up. 

48 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

There  never  was  a  more  surprised  farmer. 
He  stood  open-mouthed.  While  the  men 
around  him  laughed,  I  scrambled  from  among 
the  vegetables  over  the  wagon's  edge  and  dived 
into  the  uproar  of  Covent  Garden  market. 
Horses,  donkeys,  wagons,  men,  women  and 
children  crowded  the  place ;  on  every  side  were 
piles  of  vegetables  and  bright  fiiiit,  and  there 
was  a  clamor  of  laughter,  shouts  and  the  cries 
of  hucksters. 

I  ran  about,  happy  in  all  the  confusion,  and 
glad  to  feel  London  about  me  again.  After 
a  while  I  met  a  man  who  gave  me  a  penny  for 
helping  him  unload  his  vegetables,  and  I  wan- 
dered out  of  the  market  and  down  the  dirty 
cobbled  streets  outside.  There  was  a  barrel 
organ  which  I  followed  for  a  time,  and  then  I 
met  a  hokey-pokey  man  and  spent  my  penny 
for  his  sweets.  I  felt  as  rich  as  a  lord  as  I  sat 
on  the  curb  in  the  sunshine  eating  them. 


CHAPTER  VI 

In  which  I  come  home  again;  accustom  myself  to 
going  to  bed  hungry ;  and  have  an  unexpected  en- 
countei:  with  my  father. 

As  I  sat  there  in  the  sunshine  eating  the  hokey- 
pokey  for  which  I  had  spent  my  only  penny 
all  my  old  dreams  came  back  to  me.  I  imag- 
ined myself  rich  and  famous,  bowing  before 
cheering  audiences,  wearing  a  tall  silk  hat  and 
a  cane,  and  buying  my  mother  a  silk  dress. 

It  was  a  rough  dirty  street,  swarming  with 
ragged  children  and  full  of  heavy  vans  driven 
by  swearing  drivers,  but  reality  did  not  inter- 
fere with  my  dreams.    It  never  has. 

When  I  had  licked  the  last  sweetness  of  the 
cream  from  my  fingers  I  rose  and  walked  with 
a  haughty  swagger,  raising  my  eyebrows  dis- 
dainfully. It  was  difficult  to  look  down  on 
a  person  whose  waistband  was  on  a  level  with 
my  eyes,  but  I  managed  it.  Then  I  amused 
myself  walking  behind  people  and  imitating 
them,  until  I  heard  a  barrel  organ  and  followed 
it,  dancing  with  the  other  children. 

I  was  adventurous  and  gay  that  morning, 
50 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

with  no  cares  in  the  world.  What  did  it  mat- 
ter that  I  had  no  food  nor  shelter  nor  friends 
in  all  London?    I  did  not  tliink  of  that. 

It  was  late  that  afternoon,  and  I  had  wan- 
dered a  long  way,  when  my  increasing  hunger 
began  to  damp  my  spirits.  ]My  feet  dragged 
before  the  windows  of  pastry  shops,  and  the 
fruit  on  the  street  stands  tempted  me.  When 
it  grew  dark  and  the  gas  lamps  were  lighted 
I  felt  very  little  and  lonely  again  and  longed 
to  cry.  The  streets  were  crowded  with  people 
hurrying  home — women  with  market  baskets, 
and  rough  men,  but  no  one  noticed  me.  I  was 
onlj^  a  ragged  hungry  child,  and  there  are 
thousands  of  them  in  London. 

At  last  I  stood  forlorn  before  a  baker's  win- 
dow looking  at  the  cakes  and  buns  inside  and 
wanting  them  with  all  my  heart.  I  stood  there 
a  long  time,  jostled  by  people  going  by,  till 
a  woman  stopped  beside  me  to  look  in  also. 
Something  about  her  skirt  and  shoes  gave  me 
a  wild  hoj^e,  and  I  looked  up.  It  was  my 
mother.    My  mother! 

I  clasped  her  about  the  knees  and  screamed. 
Then  I  felt  her  arms  tiglit  about  me  and  she 
was  kneeling  beside  me  while  we  sobbed  to- 

51 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

gether.  My  mothei*,  my  dear  mother,  at  last. 
She  had  not  gone  away ;  she  had  not  forgotten 
me ;  she  wanted  me  as  much  as  ever.  I  clutched 
her,  shaking  and  sobbing,  as  if  I  could  never 
let  go,  until,  little  as  she  was,  she  picked  me 
up  and  carried  me  home. 

She  was  not  living  in  actors'  lodgings  any 
more;  she  had  a  poor  little  room  in  Palermo 
Terrace,  Kensington — a  room  little  better  than 
the  dreadful  one  where  Mr.  Hawkins  had  kept 
me — but  it  was  like  Heaven  to  me  to  be  there, 
with  my  mother.  I  clung  to  her  a  long  time, 
hysterical  when  she  tried  to  take  my  arms  from 
her  neck,  and  we  laughed  and  cried  together 
while  she  petted  and  comforted  me. 

Neither  my  father  nor  Sidney  was  there,  nor 
was  there  any  sign  that  they  were  expected. 
When  I  was  quieter,  sitting  on  her  lap  eating 
a  bun  and  tea,  my  mother  said  that  they  were 
gone.  On  the  day  I  ran  away  with  Mr.  Haw- 
kins, Sidney  had  gone  to  sea.  My  mother  had 
a  note  from  him,  telling  her  about  his  grand 
place  as  steward's  assistant  on  a  boat  going 
to  Africa,  and  promising  to  bring  her  back 
beautiful  presents  and  money,  ^he  had  not 
heard  from  him  again. 

52 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

She  undressed  me  with  her  tiny  hands  that 
reminded  me  of  hirds'  claws  and  tucked  me 
in  bed,  just  as  I  had  dreamed  so  often,  with 
her  soft  hair  falling  over  the  pillow,  and  I 
went  to  sleep,  my  heart  almost  bursting  with 
happiness  at  being  home  again. 

AVhen  I  woke  in  the  morning,  so  early  that 
it  was  not  yet  light,  I  saw  her  sitting  beside  a 
lamp,  sewing.  All  my  memories  of  my  mother 
for  weeks  after  that  are  pictures  of  her  sitting 
sewing,  her  sweet  thin  face,  with  dark  circles 
under  the  eyes,  bending  over  the  w^ork  and  her 
fingers  flying.  She  was  making  blouses  for 
a  factory.  There  were  always  piles  of  them, 
finished  and  unfinished,  on  the  table  and  bed, 
and  she  never  stopped  work  on  them.  When 
I  awoke  in  the  night  I  saw  her  in  the  lamp- 
light working,  and  all  day  long  she  worked, 
barely  stopping  to  eat.  When  she  had  a  great 
pile  of  them  finished  I  took  them  to  the  factory 
and  brought  back  more  for  her  to  do. 

I  used  to  climb  the  long  dark  stairs  to  the 
factory  loft  with  the  bundle  and  w^atch  the 
man  who  took  the  blouses  and  examined  them, 
hating  him.  He  was  a  sleek  fat  man,  with 
rings  on  his  fingers,  and  he  used  to  point  out 

53 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

every  stitch  which  was  not  just  right,  and  claim 
there  were  spots  on  the  blouses,  though  there 
were  none  at  all,  and  then  he  kept  out  some 
of  the  money.  My  mother  got  half  a  crown 
■ — about  fifty  cents — for  a  dozen  blouses,  and 
by  working  all  week  without  stopping  a  minute 
she  earned  about  five  shillings. 

I  would  keep  out  three  and  six  for  the  rent 
money,  and  then  go  bargaining  at  the  market 
stalls  for  food.  A  pound  of  two-penny  bits 
of  meat,  with  a  pennyworth  of  pot-herbs,  made 
us  a  stew,  and  sometimes  I  got  a  bit  of  stale 
bread  besides.  Then  I  came  panting  up  the 
stairs  to  my  mother  with  the  bundles,  and  gave 
her  the  rent  money,  warm  from  being  clutched 
in  my  hand,  and  she  would  laugh  and  kiss  me 
and  say  how  well  I  had  done. 

The  stew  had  to  last  us  the  week,  and  I  laiow 
now  that  often  my  mother  made  only  a  pre- 
tense of  eating,  so  that  there  would  be  more 
for  me.  I  was  always  hungry  in  those  days 
and  used  to  dream  of  cakes  and  buns,  but  we 
were  very  happy  together.  Sometimes  I  would 
do  an  errand  for  some  one  and  get  a  penny, 
and  then  I  proudly  brought  it  to  her  and  we 
would  have  bmis,  or  even  a  herring,  for  supper. 

54 


"Oil  joy 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

But  she  was  uneasy  when  I  was  away,  and 
wanted  me  to  sit  by  her  and  read  aloud  while 
she  worked,  so  I  did  not  often  leave  her. 

At  this  time  she  was  passionately  eager  to 
have  me  study.  She  had  taught  me  to  read 
before,  and  now  while  she  sewed  she  talked  to 
me  about  history  and  other  countries  and  peo- 
ples, and  showed  me  how  to  draw  maps  of  the 
world,  and  we  played  little  spelling  games. 
She  had  me  read  the  Bible  aloud  to  her  for 
hours  at  a  time.  It  was  the  only  book  we  had. 
But  most  of  all  she  taught  me  acting.  I  had 
a  great  gift  for  mimicry,  and  she  had  me  mimic 
every  one  I  saw  in  the  streets.  I  loved  it  and 
used  to  make  up  little  plays  and  act  them  for 
her. 

Remembering  the  first  time  I  had  danced 
on  tlie  stage,  and  the  money  I  made,  I  wanted 
to  go  back  to  the  music-halls,  but  she  roused 
almost  into  a  fury  at  the  idea.  All  her  most 
painful  memories  were  of  the  music-hall  life, 
and  she  passionately  made  me  promise  never 
to  act  in  one.  I  could  not  have  done  it  in  any 
case,  because  at  this  time  tliere  was  a  law  for- 
bidding children  under  fourteen  to  work  on 
the  stage.    I  was  only  eleven. 

55 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

My  mother  grew  thinner  and  more  tired.  She 
complained  sometimes  of  a  pain  in  her  head, 
and  her  beautiful  hair,  like  long,  fine  silk,  had 
threads  in  it  that  shone  like  silver.  I  loved 
to  watch  them  when  she  brushed  it  at  night. 
But  she  was  always  gay  and  sweet  with  me, 
and  I  adored  her.  I  had  no  life  at  all  separate 
from  her;  all  my  dreams  and  hopes  were  of 
making  her  happy  and  buying  her  beautiful 
things,  and  taking  her  to  a  place  in  the  country 
where  she  could  rest  and  do  nothing  but  play 
with  me. 

Then  one  day  while  I  was  coming  from  the 
factory  with  the  money  clutched  in  my  hand  I 
passed  a  barroom.  I  had  never  been  in  one, 
or  cared  to,  but  something  seemed  to  attract 
me  to  this  one.  I  stood  before  the  swinging 
doors,  thinking  with  a  fluttering  heart  of  going 
in,  and  wanting  to,  and  not  wanting  to,  both  at 
once.  Finally  I  timidly  pushed  the  doors  apart 
and  looked  in.  There,  at  a  little  table,  drink- 
ing with  some  men,  I  saw  my  father. 


CHAPTER  VII 

In  which  I  see  my  father  for  the  last  time;  learn 
that  real  tragedy  is  silent;  and  go  out  into  the 
world  to  make  my  own  way. 

It  gave  me  a  great  shock  to  recognize  my 
father  in  the  man  who  sat  there  drinking.  I 
quivered  as  I  looked  at  him.  He  was  changed ; 
his  dark  handsome  face  had  reddened  and 
looked  swollen  and  flabby;  his  eyes  were  blood- 
sliot.  He  did  not  see  me  at  first.  The  man 
with  him  appeared  to  be  urging  something, 
and  my  father  cried  with  an  oath  that  he  would 
not.  I  caught  the  word  "hospital,"  and  saw 
his  hands  shake  as  he  pounded  the  table.  Then 
some  one  coming  in  pushed  me  into  the  room 
and  he  saw  me. 

"Hello,  here's  the  little  tike  I"  he  cried. 
"Blast  me,  he  hasn't  grown  an  inch!  Here, 
come  here  to  your  daddy!" 

I  went  over  to  the  table  and  stood  looking 
at  him,  tlie  bundles  under  my  arm.  He  was 
very  boisterous,  calling  all  the  men  in  tlie  bar 
to  see  mc,  and  boasting  of  how  I  could  dance. 

57 


CHAHLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

He  swung  me  to  the  table-top,  crying,  "Come, 
my  beauty,  show  'em  what  j^ou  can  do!"  and 
they  began  to  clap.  I  danced  for  them,  and 
then  I  mimicked  them  one  by  one  until  the 
room  was  in  an  uproar. 

"He's  his  father's  own  son!"  they  cried. 
"Little  Charlie  Chaplin!" 

My  father  was  very  proud  of  me  and  kept 
me  at  it  until  I  was  tired,  and,  remembering 
that  my  mother  was  waiting,  I  climbed  down 
from  the  table  and  picked  up  my  bundles. 

"Going  without  a  drink?"  cried  my  father, 
and  offered  me  his  glass,  but  I  pushed  it  away. 
I  did  not  like  the  smell  of  it.  ]My  father  seemed 
hurt  and  angry ;  he  drained  the  glass  and  put  it 
on  the  table  with  a  slam,  and  I  saw  again  how 
his  hand  shook. 

"Just  like  his  mother!"  he  said  bitterly. 
"Despises  his  own  father!  I'm  not  good 
enough  for  his  little  highness.  She's  taught 
him  that." 

"It's  not  true!"  I  cried,  enraged.  "My 
mother  never  says  a  word  about  you!" 

"Oh,  don't  she?"  he  sneered,  but  his  lip 
shook.  He  stared  moodily  at  the  table,  dinim- 
ming  on  it  with  his  fingers,  and  then  he  turned 

58 


CHAHLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

to  me  with  a  dreary  look  in  his  eyes.  "Well, 
then,  come  home  with  me,"  he  said.  "I'll  take 
good  care  of  you  and  give  you  a  fine  start  in 
the  profession  and  clothes  that  aren't  rags.  I 
can  do  that,  yet.  I'm  not  done  for,  whatever 
they  say.    Come,  will  you  do  it?" 

"No,"  I  said.  "I  want  to  stay  with  my 
mother." 

"We'll  see  about  that!"  he  shouted  angrily. 
He  seized  my  arm  and  shook  it.  "You'll  come 
with  me,  if  I  say  so.  You  hear?"  He  glared 
at  me  and  I  looked  back  at  him,  frightened. 

"You  hurt!  I  want  to  go  home  to  my 
mother!"  I  cried. 

He  held  me  a  minute  and  then  wearily 
pushed  me  away.  "All  right,  go  and  be 
damned !"  he  said.  "It's  a  hell  of  a  life."  Then, 
with  a  sudden  motion,  he  caught  my  hand  and 
put  a  sovereign  in  it.  I  dodged  through  the 
crowd  and  escaped  into  tlie  street,  eager  to 
take  the  money  to  my  mother. 

The  next  week,  as  we  were  sitting  together, 
my  mother  sewing  and  I  painfully  spelling  out 
long  words  in  my  reading,  the  landlady  came 
puffing  up  the  stairs  and  knocked  at  the  door. 

"Your  mister's  took  bad  and  in  the  hosxjital," 
59 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

she  said  to  my  mother.  "He's  sent  a  message 
'e  wants  to  see  you." 

JNIy  mother  turned  whiter  and  rose  in  a  hurry 
to  put  on  her  bonnet,  while  I  picked  the  bits 
of  thread  from  her  gown.  Then  she  kissed  me, 
told  me  to  mind  the  stew  and  not  go  out  tiU 
she  came  back,  and  went  away. 

There  seemed  a  horror  left  in  the  room  when 
she  was  gone.  I  could  not  keep  my  thoughts 
from  that  word  "hospital,"  which  all  the  poor 
of  London  fear  and  dread.  I  wandered  about 
the  room,  looking  from  the  window  at  the 
starving  cats  in  the  court  and  at  the  brick  wall 
opposite  till  it  grew  dark.  Then  I  ate  a  small 
plate  of  the  stew,  leaving  some  for  my  mother, 
and  went  miserably  to  bed. 

Late  in  the  night  my  mother  woke  me  and 
I  saw  that  her  face  was  shining  almost  as  it 
used  to  do. 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  she  cried,  hugging  me.  "It's 
all  right.  We  are  going  to  be  so  happy  again!'* 
She  rocked  back  and  forth,  hugging  me,  and 
her  hair  tumbled  down  about  us.  Then  she 
told  me  that  when  my  father  was  well  we  were 
all  going  to  leave  London  and  go  far  away 
together — ^to  Australia.     We  were  going  to 

60 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

have  a  farm  there,  in  the  country,  with  cows, 
and  I  was  to  have  milk  and  cream  and  eggs, 
and  she  would  make  butter,  and  my  father 
would  never  drink  again.  She  poured  it  all 
out,  in  little  bursts  of  talk,  and  her  wami  tears 
fell  on  my  face. 

When  at  last  she  left  me  to  brush  out  her 
hair  she  hummed  a  little  song  and  smiled  at 
herself  in  the  tiny  mirror. 

"I  wish  my  hair  was  all  brown  as  it  used 
to  be,"  she  said.  "It  hurt  him  so  to  see  it  white. 
I  will  get  fat  in  the  country.  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  handsome  your  father  was  and  how 
jolly?  Oh,  won't  it  be  fun?"  After  she  had 
put  out  the  light  we  lay  a  long  time  in  the 
dark  talking,  and  she  told  me  tales  of  the  pleas- 
ant times  they  had  when  I  was  little  and  asked 
if  I  remembered  them. 

After  that  my  mother  went  every  day  to  the 
hospital.  She  did  not  sew  any  more,  and  she 
bouglit  bunches  of  flowers  and  fruit  for  my 
fatlier  and  cakes  for  me.  At  night,  when  she 
tucked  me  in,  her  face  was  bright  with  hope, 
and  hearing  her  laugli,  I  remembered  how  sel- 
dom she  had  done  it  lately.  We  were  both 
very  happy. 

61 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORT 

Then  one  day  she  came  in  slowly,  stumbling' 
a  bit.  ]SIy  heart  gave  a  terrible  leap  when  I 
saw  her  face — gray,  with  a  blue  look  about  her 
lips.  I  ran  to  her,  frightened,  and  helped  her 
to  a  chair.  She  sat  there  quite  still,  not  answer- 
ing me  at  first,  and  then  she  said  in  a  dull  voice, 
"He's  dead.  He's  dead.  He  was  dead  when 
I  got  there.    It  can't  be  true.    He's  dead." 

]My  father  had  died  suddenly  the  night  be- 
fore. There  was  some  confusion  about  the  bur- 
ial arrangements.  ]My  mother  seemed  dazed 
and  there  was  no  money.  People  came  and 
talked  with  her  and  she  did  not  seem  to  under- 
stand them,  but  it  seemed  that  the  music-hall 
people  were  making  the  arrangements,  and 
then  that  somebody  objected  to  that  and  un- 
dertook them — I  gathered  that  it  was  my  fath- 
er's sister. 

Then  one  day  my  mother  and  I  dressed  very 
carefully  and  went  to  the  funeral.  It  was  a 
foggy  cold  day,  late  in  autumn,  with  drops  of 
rain  falling  slowly.  At  one  end  of  the  grave 
stood  a  thin  angular  woman  with  her  lips 
pressed  together  tight,  and  my  mother  and  I 
stood  at  the  other.  My  mother  held  her  head 
proudly  and  did  not  shed  a  tear,  but  her  hand 

62 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

in  mine  was  cold.  There  were  several  carriages 
and  people  from  the  music-halls  with  a  few 
flowers.  When  the  coffin  was  lowered  into  the 
grave  the  thin  hard-looking  woman  dropped 
some  flowers  on  it.  INIy  mother  looked  at  her 
and  she  looked  at  my  mother  coldly.  We  had 
no  flowers,  but  my  mother  took  from  my  pocket 
a  little  handkerchief  of  hers  which  she  had 
given  me — a  little  handkerchief  with  an  em- 
broidered border  which  I  prized  very  much — < 
and  put  it  in  my  hand. 

"You  can  put  that  in,"  she  said,  and  I 
dropped  it  into  the  open  grave  and  watched  it 
flutter  down.  ^ly  heart  was  almost  breaking 
with  grief  for  my  mother. 

Then  we  went  back  to  our  cold  room  alone, 
and  my  mother  went  at  once  at  her  sewing. 

We  had  no  more  talks  or  study,  and  she  did 
not  seem  to  hear  when  I  read  aloud,  so  after 
a  time  I  stopped.  She  sat  silently,  all  day, 
sewing  at  the  blouses,  and  I  hunted  for  eiTands 
in  the  streets,  and  made  the  stew,  and  tried  to 
get  her  to  eat  some.  She  said  she  did  not  care 
to  eat  because  her  head  ached,  she  would  ratlicr 
I  had  it. 

At  this  time  I  looked  everywhere  for  work, 
63 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

but  could  not  seem  to  find  any.  I  was  so  small 
and  thin  that  people  thought  I  could  not  do  it 
well.  I  picked  up  a  few  pennies  here  and  there 
and  learned  the  ways  of  the  streets,  and  wished 
I  were  bigger  and  not  so  shabby,  so  that  I 
might  go  on  the  stage.  I  was  sure  I  could 
make  money  there. 

Then  one  day  I  came  home  and  found  my 
mother  lying  on  the  floor  beside  her  chair,  gray 
and  cold,  with  blue  lips.  I  could  not  rouse  her. 
I  screamed  on  the  staircase  for  the  landlady, 
and  she  came  up  and  we  worked  over  my 
mother  together.  After  a  w^hile  the  parish  doc- 
tor came — a  busy  bustling  little  man.  He 
pursed  up  his  lips  and  shook  his  head.  "In- 
firmary case!"  he  said  briskly.    "Looks  bad!'* 

A  wagon  came  and  they  took  my  mother 
away,  still  gray  and  cold.  She  had  not  moved 
or  spoken  to  me.  Wlien  she  had  gone  I  sat  at 
the  top  of  the  staircase  in  blank  hopeless  mis- 
ery, thinking  of  the  grave  in  which  they  had 
buried  my  father,  and  that  I  would  never  see 
my  mother  again.  After  a  while  the  landlady 
came  up  with  a  broom. 

"Well,  well,"  she  said  crossly.  "I  'ave  my 
room  to  let  again.     It's  a  'ard  world.    I'm  a 

64 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

poor  woman,  you  know;  you  can't  stay 
'ere." 

"Yes,  I  know.  I  have  other  lodgings,"  I 
said  importantly,  so  that  she  should  not  see 
how  miserable  I  was.  I  went  into  the  room 
with  her  and  looked  around.  I  had  nothing 
to  take  away  but  a  comb  and  a  collar.  I  put 
them  in  my  pocket  and  left. 

"WHien  I  was  on  the  stairs  the  landlady  called 
to  me  from  the  top. 

"You  know  I'd  like  to  keep  you  'ere  if  I 
could,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  I  can  look  out  for  my- 
self," I  said.  I  put  my  hands  in  my  pockets 
and  whistled  to  show  her  I  needed  no  pity,  and 
went  out  into  the  street. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

In  which  I  take  lodgings  in  a  barrel  and  find  that 
I  have  invaded  a  home;  learn  something  about 
crime ;  and  forget  that  I  was  to  share  in  nefarious 
profits. 

It  was  a  cold  wet  evening  in  the  beginning  of 
winter  and  the  rain  struck  chilly  through  my 
thin  clothes  as  I  walked,  wondering  where  I 
could  find  shelter.  Probably  in  America  a 
homeless,  hungry  child  of  eleven  would  find 
friends,  but  in  London  I  was  only  one  of  thou- 
sands as  wretched  as  I,  Such  poverty  is  so 
common  there  that  people  are  accustomed  to  it 
and  pass  by  with  their  minds  full  of  their  own 
concerns. 

I  wandered  aimlessly  about  for  a  long  time, 
watching  the  gas  lamps  flare  feebly,  one  by 
one,  and  make  long,  glimmering  marks  on  the 
wet  pavements.  I  could  not  whistle  any  more, 
there  was  such  an  ache  in  my  throat  at  the 
thought  of  my  mother,  and  I  was  so  miserable 
and  forlorn.    At  last  I  found  an  overturned 

66 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

barrel  with  a  little  damp  straw  in  it  in  an  alley, 
and  I  curled  up  in  it  and  lay  there  hearing  the 
raindrops  muffled,  hollow,  beating  above  me. 

After  a  while  I  must  have  fallen  into  a  dose, 
for  I  was  awakened  by  something  crawling 
into  the  barrel.  I  thought  it  was  a  dog  and  i^ut 
out  my  hand,  half  afraid  and  half  glad  of  the 
company.    It  was  another  boy. 

"Hello,  'ere!"  he  said.  "Wot  are  you  up  to? 
This  'ere  is  my  'ome!" 

"I  don't  care,  I'm  here  and  I'm  going  to  stay 
here,"  I  said.    "Say  what  you  like  about  that!" 

"Ho,  you  are,  are  youl  I'll  punch  your 
bloomin'  'ead  off  first!"  he  answered. 

"I  won't  go,  not  for  twenty  punchings,"  I 
said  doggedh\  There  was  not  room  to  fight 
in  the  barrel  and  I  was  sure  he  could  not  get 
me  out,  because  I  knew  by  the  feel  of  his  wet 
shoulder  in  the  dark  that  he  was  smaller  than  I. 

"  'Ere's  a  pretty  go,  a  man  carn't  'ave  'is 
own  'ome!"  lie  said  bitterly,  after  we  had  sat 
breathing  bard  for  a  minute.  "Wot's  yer 
name  f 

I  told  liim  wlio  I  was  and  how  I  had  come 
there  and  promised  to  leave  in  the  morning. 
He  was  much  interested  in  hearing  that  I  had 

67 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

a  mother  and  asked  what  she  was  like,  assum- 
ing at  once  a  condescending  air.  He  had  never 
had  a  mother,  he  said  importantly ;  he  knew  his 
way  about,  he  did. 

"You  can  stye  'ere  if  you  like,"  he  said 
grandly.    "  'Ave  you  'ad  grub?" 

I  told  him  no,  that  I  had  not  been  able  to  find 
anything  to  eat. 

*'Hi  know,  the  cats  get  to  it  first,"  he  said. 
"But  hi  'ave  my  wye,  hi  'ave.  'Ere's  'arf  a  bun 
for  yer."  He  put  into  my  hand  a  damp  bit  of 
bread  and  I  ate  it  gratefully  while  he  talked. 
His  name  was  Snooper,  he  said,  and  he  could 
show  me  about — how  to  snatch  purses  and 
dodge  the  bobbies  and  have  larks. 

At  last  we  went  to  sleep,  curled  in  the  damp 
straw,  with  an  understanding  that  the  next 
day  we  should  forage  together  for  purses. 
Next  morning  I  was  awakened  by  a  terrific 
noise,  and  crawling  from  the  barrel  found 
Snooper  standing  outside  kicking  it.  He  was 
a  wizened,  small  child,  not  more  than  nine  years 
old,  wearing  a  ragged  coat  too  small  for  him 
and  a  man's  trousers  torn  off  at  the  knee.  He 
wore  his  cap  on  one  side  with  a  jaunty  air  and 
whistled,  his  hands  in  the  rents  in  his  coat. 

68 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY, 

We  started  off  together  to  Covent  Garden 
market,  where  he  said  we  would  find  good  pick- 
ings, and  seeing  the  knowing  cock  of  his  eye 
and  his  gay  manner,  I  too  managed  to  whistle 
and  walk  with  a  swagger,  though  my  heart  was 
still  hea^y  with  missing  my  mother,  and  I  was 
very  hungry.  It  was  early  when  we  came  to 
the  market,  but  the  place  was  crowded  with 
farmers'  wagons  and  horses  and  costers'  carts. 
We  wandered  about  and  Snooper,  with  great 
enterprise,  filled  the  front  of  his  blouse  with 
raw  eggs,  which  we  ate  in  a  near-by  alley. 
AVlien  we  returned  to  the  market  it  was  begin- 
ning to  fill  with  purchasers.  Snooper,  with  his 
finger  at  his  nose  and  a  cock  of  his  eye,  pointed 
out  one  of  them,  a  fat  woman  in  black,  carry- 
ing a  big  market  basket  on  her  arm  and  clutch- 
ing a  fat  leather  purse. 

"When  I  glom  the  leather  you  hupset  the 
heggs  at  'er  feet,"  he  said  to  me  in  a  hoarse 
whisper,  and  we  edged  closer  to  her  through 
the  crowd.  She  was  standing  before  a 
vegetable  stand  with  a  bunch  of  herbs  in  her 
hand  arguing  with  tlie  farmer. 

"Tlirippcncc,"  said  the  farmer  firmly. 

"Tuppence  ha'penny,  not  a  farthing  more," 
69 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

she  said..  "It's  robbery,  that's  wot  it  is."  We 
edged  closer. 

"Worth  fourpence  by  rights,"  said  the 
farmer.  "Take  'em  for  thrippence  or  leave 
'em." 

"Tuppence  ha'penny,"  she  insisted.  "They're 
stale.  Tuppence  ha' — ow!"  Snooper  had 
snatched  her  purse. 

With  a  yell  she  leaped  after  him,  stumbled 
and  fell  in  the  crate  of  eggs.  The  farmer,  rush- 
ing from  behind  his  stand,  overturned  the 
pumpkins,  which  bounced  among  the  crowd. 
There  was  great  uproar.    I  fled. 

Diving  under  wagons  and  dodging  among 
the  horses  and  people,  I  had  gone  half-way 
down  the  big  market  when  I  encountered  a  per- 
spiring, swearing  farmer,  who  was  trying  to 
unload  his  wagon  and  hold  his  horse  at  the 
same  time.  The  beast  was  plunging  and  rear- 
ing. 

"Hi,  lad!"  the  farmer  called  to  me.  "Want 
a  ha'penny?  'Old  'is  bloomin'  'ead  for  me  and 
I'll  gi'  you  one." 

I  gladly  seized  the  halter,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  I  had  the  halfpenny  and  a  carrot  as  well. 
I  liked  the  market,  with  all  its  noise  and  bustle 

70 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

and  the  excitement  of  seeing*  new  things,  and 
while  I  wandered  through  the  crowd  munching 
my  carrot  I  decided  to  stay  there.  Snooper  had 
said  he  would  wait  for  me  at  the  barrel  and 
divide  the  contents  of  the  purse,  but  among  all 
the  interesting  sights  and  sounds  of  the  market 
I  forgot  that,  and  although  I  looked  for  him 
several  days  later,  I  never  saw  him  again. 

Before  noon  I  had  earned  another  ha'penny 
and  an  apple,  only  partly  spoiled.  I  had  not 
eaten  an  apple  since  the  old  days  when  I  was 
very  little  and  mother  used  to  bring  home  treats 
to  Sidney  and  me.  The  loneliness  of  my  mother 
still  lay  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart  like  a  dull 
ache,  and  I  determined  to  take  the  apple  to  her. 
The  parish  doctor  who  had  taken  her  away  had 
said  I  might  be  able  to  see  her  at  the  hospital 
that  afternoon. 

I  held  the  apple  carefully  all  the  long  way 
through  the  London  streets  to  the  hospital.  It 
was  a  big  bare  place,  with  very  busy  people 
coming  and  going,  and  for  a  long  time  I  could 
not  get  an}?-  one  to  tell  me  where  my  mother 
was.  At  last  a  woman  all  in  black,  witli  a  wide, 
flaring  white  cap  on  her  head,  took  my  hand 
and  led  me  past  a  great  many  beds  with  moan- 

71 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

ing  people  in  them  to  the  one  where  my  mother 
lay. 

They  had  cut  away  all  her  beautiful  hair, 
and  her  small  bare  head  looked  strange  upon 
the  pillow.  Her  eyes  were  wide  open  and 
bright,  but  they  frightened  me,  and  though  she 
was  talking  rapidly  to  herself,  she  did  not  say 
a  word  to  me  when  I  stood  beside  her  and 
showed  her  the  apple. 

"Mother,  mother,  see,  I've  brought  you 
something,"  I  said,  but  she  only  turned  her 
head  restlessly  on  the  pillow. 

"One  more.  Are  the  bottonlioles  finished? 
Nine  more  to  make  the  dozen,  and  then  a  dozen 
more,  and  that's  a  half-crown,  and  thread  costs 
so  much,"  she  went  on  to  herself. 

"What's  the  matter  with  my  mother?  Why 
don't  she  speak  to  me?"  I  asked  the  woman  in 
the  white  cap. 

"It's  the  fever — she's  out  of  her  head,  poor 
thing,"  the  woman  said. 

"Won't  she  ever  be  able  to  speak  to  me?"  I 
asked  her,  and  something  in  the  way  she  shook 
her  head  and  said  she  didn't  know  made  me 
cold  all  over.  Then  she  led  me  out  again  and 
I  went  back  to  Covent  Garden  market. 

.72 


CHAPTER  IX 

In  which  I  trick  a  Covent  Garden  coster ;  get  glorious 
news  from  Sidney ;  and  make  another  sad  trip  to 
the  hospital. 

I  SLEPT  that  night  in  Covent  Garden  market, 
cuddled  close  to  the  back  of  a  coster's  donkey, 
which  was  warm,  but  caused  me  great  alarm  at 
intervals  by  wheezing  loudly  and  making  as  if 
to  turn  over  upon  me.  Then  I  scurried  out  of 
the  straw  and  wandered  about  in  the  empty, 
echoing  place,  feeling  very  small  in  the  vast 
dimness  among  the  shadows,  until  the  donkey 
was  quiet  again  and  I  could  creep  back  beside 
him. 

In  the  strange  eery  chill  of  the  morning, 
while  the  gas  lamps  in  the  streets  were  still 
showing  dimly  through  in  the  fog,  the  farmers 
began  to  come  in  with  their  wagons.  I  hurried 
al)0ut  in  the  darkness  of  the  market,  asking 
each  one  if  I  miglit  help  him  imload  the 
vegetables  or  hold  the  horse  for  a  halfpenny, 

73 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

or  even  for  a  carrot  or  raw  potato.  The  horses 
were  large,  heavy-footed  beasts  and  their 
broad,  huge-muscled  chests  towered  over  me 
as  I  held  the  halters,  while  every  toss  of  their 
heads  lifted  me  from  the  floor.  But  I  held  on 
bravely,  very  hungry,  thinking  of  the  bun  I 
might  buy  with  a  halfpenny,  and  indeed,  before 
the  market  was  light  I  had  two  halfpennies 
and  a  small  assortment  of  vegetables. 

I  ate  these,  and  then  I  went  out  into  the 
dirty,  cobbled  streets  about  the  market  where 
the  heavy  vans  were  already  beginning  to 
rumble  by  and  found  an  eating-house  where, 
for  my  penny,  I  bought  not  only  two  buns,  but 
a  big  mug  of  very  hot  cofl'ee  as  well.  As  I  sat 
on  a  stool  drinking  and  taking  bites  from  the 
buns,  the  waiter  leaned  his  elbows  on  the 
counter  and  asked  me  where  I  had  come  from 
and  who  I  was. 

"I  am  an  actor,"  I  told  him,  for  this  idea 
was  always  in  the  back  of  my  mind.  He 
laughed  heartily  at  this,  and  I  swallowed  the 
rest  of  the  coffee  in  a  hurry,  scalding  my 
throat,  for  I  resented  his  laughing  and  wished 
to  get  away.  I  put  the  bits  of  bun  in  my  pocket 
and  slipped  down  from  the  stool,  but  before  I 

74 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

had  reached  the  door  the  man  came  around  the 
counter  with  another  bun  in  his  hand. 

"  'Ere,  me  pore  lad,  tike  this,"  he  said  kindly 
enough,  putting  the  bun  in  m}"  pocket.  I  let 
him  do  it,  feeling  confused  and  resentful,  and 
ate  the  bun  later,  sitting  on  a  box  in  the  market, 
but  I  never  went  back  to  that  eating-house 
again.    I  hated  to  be  pitied. 

All  the  months  I  lived  in  Covent  Garden 
market  I  was  hungry.  I  ate  eagerly  every  bit 
of  spoiled  fruit  or  partly  decayed  vegetable  I 
could  find,  and  sometimes  the  farmers,  amused 
by  my  dancing  for  them  while  they  were  eat- 
ing, would  give  me  crusts  from  their  baskets, 
but  my  stomach  was  never  satisfied.  The 
people  who  came  to  Covent  Garden  market 
were  poor,  and  halfpennies  were  scarce,  though 
I  hunted  all  day  long  for  small  jobs  that  I 
could  do.  Very  early  in  the  morning  when  the 
farmers  first  came  in  was  the  best  time  to  find 
them,  but  sometimes  days  went  by  when  all  I 
could  earn  was  raw  vegetables. 

After  a  time,  wlicn  the  market  people  knew 
me,  I  had  permission  to  sleep  in  one  of  the 
coster's  carts,  with  a  sack  over  me  for  warmth, 
but  at  first  I  curled  up  in  the  straw  beside  the 

75 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

donkeys.  One  of  the  donkeys  in  particular 
was  quite  sleek  and  fat.  His  owner  took  great 
pride  in  him,  feeding  him  every  day  a  large 
portion  of  carrots,  and  fondly  swearing  at  him 
while  he  ate  them.  I  used  to  look  enviously  at 
that  donkey  and  finally  I  evolved  a  great  plan. 

When  the  donkey  had  first  begun  to  munch 
the  carrots,  I  would  scream  from  the  tail  of  the 
cart,  "Thieves!  Thieves!  Catch  'im!"  and 
spring  away,  overturning  boxes  and  making  a 
great  commotion.  The  coster  would  leave  his 
donkey  and  come  running,  excited,  and  while 
he  was  wondering  what  had  happened  I  would 
steal  slyly  up  on  the  other  side  of  the  donkey 
and  filch  the  carrots.  The  poor  beast  looked 
reproachfully  at  me,  wagging  his  ears  and 
sometimes  braying  frightfully,  but  I  ran  glee- 
fully away,  and  sitting  concealed  beneath  a 
wagon,  ate  his  dinner  for  him  to  the  last  bite. 

The  stupid  coster,  amazed,  would  scratch  his 
head  and  marvel  at  the  donkey's  appetite,  but 
I  do  not  remember  that  he  ever  failed  to  run 
at  the  cry  of  "Thieves!"  or  that  I  ever  failed 
to  make  way  with  the  carrots. 

Several  times  that  winter  I  screwed  up  my 
76 


Covciit  (jardcii  on  Market  Day 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

courage  to  attempt  getting  work  on  the  stage, 
but  after  I  had  walked  a  long  way  in  the  foggy, 
dripping  streets,  I  would  be  so  cold  and  wet 
and  so  conscious  of  my  rags  and  of  my  dirty 
collar  that  I  turned  back  to  the  market  again. 

Sometimes  at  long  intervals  the  people  at  the 
hospital  let  me  see  my  mother,  but  I  could  not 
bear  to  look  at  her,  she  was  so  altered  and 
seemed  so  strange.  She  lay  quite  still,  some- 
times, and  would  not  speak  or  answer  me  when 
I  called  to  her,  so  that  I  thought  she  was  dead, 
and  a  great  black  misery  came  over  me.  Some- 
times she  turned  her  head  from  side  to  side  on 
the  pillow  and  talked  to  herself  in  a  quick,  clear 
voice  about  blouses,  dozens  and  dozens  of 
blouses.  She  never  looked  at  me  or  seemed  to 
know  that  I  was  there,  and  I  came  away  from 
the  hospital  so  wretched  that  I  wished  never  to 
go  back. 

Still  I  went  again,  as  often  as  they  would 
let  me,  and  one  day  a  marvelous  thing  hap- 
pened. The  nurse  with  the  flaring  white  cap 
took  me  into  a  little  office  and  showed  me  a 
letter. 

"A  woman  brought  it  here  from  the  lodg- 
77 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

ings  where  your  mother  lived,"  she  said.  "We 
read  it  to  your  mother,  but  she  could  not  under- 
stand, so  we  saved  it  for  you." 

She  gave  it  to  me  and  I  read  it  in  great 
excitement.    , 

"Dear  mother,"  it  read.  "I  am  coming 
back  from  Africa.  I  will  be  home  for  Christ- 
mas Day,  with  thirty  pounds  saved,  and  I  am 
bringing  grand  presents  for  you,  but  I  will  not 
tell  you  what  they  are.  Tell  Charlie  to  look 
out  for  his  big  brother,  I  have  presents  for  him, 
too.  I  will  be  home  two  months  from  to-day, 
at  Waterloo  station  at  nine  o'clock.  Be  sure 
to  have  a  Christmas  pudding  ready.  Hoping 
you  are  all  well,  I  am  your  dutiful  son, 

"Sidney. 

"Postscript — It  is  a  shawl,  and  there  are  ear- 
rings, too,  but  I  will  not  tell  you  what  else." 

My  heart  gave  a  great  leap  and  seemed  to 
choke  me,  and  I  trembled  so  I  could  not  speak. 
I  had  not  thought  of  Sidney  for  a  long  time, 
and  now  he  was  coming  home  with  money  and 
presents!  And  thinking  of  my  poor  mother, 
who  was  so  ill  and  could  not  understand  the 
great  news,  tears  came  into  my  eyes  so  that  I 
had  to  rub  them  not  to  let  the  nurse  see.    Then 

78 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  saw  how  dirty  I  was,  and  ragged,  and  was 
ashamed  to  have  Sidney  see  me. 

The  nurse  kindly  told  the  day,  and  compar- 
ing it  with  the  date  of  the  letter,  I  sav/  it  was 
that  very  evening  that  Sidney  would  reach 
London. 

Quivering  with  excitement,  I  begged  to  see 
my  mother  again  and  tell  her  about  it,  and 
when  they  said  I  might,  I  could  not  walk  down 
the  long  ward,  but  must  run  in  my  eagerness. 
"^Mother!  JMother!  Sidney's  coming  home! 
With  presents  for  you — a  shawl,  and  ear- 
rings!" I  cried.  But  it  was  no  use.  My 
mother  lay  there  with  her  thin  drawn  face  quite 
still  and  would  not  even  open  her  eyes. 

So,  with  a  heavy  heart,  wondering  how  I  was 
to  tell  Sidney  of  all  that  had  occurred,  I  came 
out  of  the  hospital  and  tried  to  make  ready  for 
going  to  Waterloo  station. 

I  washed  my  face  and  hands  carefully  in  a 
puddle  and  dried  them  upon  some  straw.  Then 
I  took  some  mud  and  blacked  my  shoes  as  well 
as  possible,  and  the  toe  which  showed  so  tliat 
it  would  not  be  so  conspicuous.  Then  my  hands 
must  be  washed  again  and  my  hair  combed.  I 
smoothed  out  my  wrinkled  clothes  as  well  as  I 

79 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

could  and  tucked  in  the  torn  lining  of  my  cap 
so  that  it  would  not  show. 

All  this  took  much  time,  so  that  it  was  almost 
dusk  before  I  started  to  meet  Sidney,  and  I  ran 
most  of  the  way,  not  to  be  late,  hoping  that  I 
would  not  miss  him  in  all  the  confusion  of  the 
station. 


CHAPTER  X 

In  which  Sidney  comes  home  to  find  father  dead, 
mother  too  ill  to  recognize  him  and  me  half  starved 
and  in  rags. 

When  at  last  I  arrived,  panting,  at  Waterloo 
station  the  lamps  were  already  lighted  and  all 
the  place  was  bright  with  them.  There  was 
such  a  noise  of  people  coming  and  going  and 
so  much  confusion  that,  used  as  I  was  to  the 
turmoil  of  the  market,  I  hardly  knew  where  to 
go  or  what  to  do.  Besides,  the  manner  of  these 
people  was  so  different  and  their  clothes  so 
good  that  I  felt  more  than  ever  ashamed  of  my 
raggedness  and  doubtful  what  Sidney  would 
think  when  he  saw  me. 

However,  I  was  so  determined  not  to  miss 
him  that  I  got  up  courage  to  ask  the  way  to 
the  trains  and  was  waiting  there  trembling  with 
excitement  and  eagerness  when  the  nine  o'clock 
express  came  in.  I  had  not  quite  courage 
enough  to  run  forward,  but  hung  back  a  little, 
keeping  my  broken  shoe  with  the  hole  in  it 

81 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

where  my  toe  showed  behind  the  other  and 
looking  carefully  at  each  man  that  passed  in 
the  hope  that  he  might  be  Sidney. 

At  last  I  saw  him.  He  was  almost  seventeen 
then ;  big,  well-dressed  and  healthy  looking  as 
he  swung  along  with  his  cap  pushed  back  look- 
ing eagerly  at  every  woman  in  sight,  expect- 
ing, I  knew,  to  see  my  mother.  He  went  by 
me  without  a  glance  and  I  saw  his  bright  clean 
boots  and  the  new  glove  he  wore  on  the  hand 
that  held  his  bag.  They  seemed  to  put  such  a 
distance  between  us  that  I  let  him  go  past,  not 
daring  to  stop  him.  I  stood  there  stupidly 
looking  at  his  back. 

Then  I  realized  that  he  was  going,  that  I 
was  losing  him,  and  I  ran  after  him  and 
desperately  touched  his  arm.  He  looked  down 
at  me  impatiently. 

"No,  lad,"  he  said  sharply,  "I  will  carry  the 
bag." 

He  went  on  through  the  station  still  watch- 
ing for  my  mother,  and  I  followed  him, 
ashamed  to  speak  to  him  again,  ragged  and 
dirty  as  I  was,  and  yet  not  being  able  to  let 
him  go.  At  last  he  gave  up  hope  of  my 
mother's  coming  to  meet  him  and  went  outside, 

82 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

where  he  hailed  a  cab.  I  stood  there  beside 
him  trying-  to  speak  to  him  and  choking  while 
the  driver  opened  the  cab  door  and  he  got  in. 
Then  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  I  seized  the 
door  handle  and  clmig"  to  it  desperately. 

'*0h,  Sidne}^  don't  you  know  me?"  I  cried. 
"I'm  Charhe." 

He  looked  at  me  a  minute,  surprised,  before 
he  recognized  me.  Then  his  face  went  white 
and  he  pulled  me  into  the  cab,  calling  to  the 
driver  to  go  on,  anywhere. 

"For  God's  sake,  what  has  happened?"  he 
asked. 

"Father's  dead  and  mother's  in  the  parish 
hospital,  and  I  haven't  had  anywhere  to  sleep 
or  to  wash,"  I  blurted  out. 

Sidney  did  not  speak  for  a  minute.  His  face 
seemed  to  set  and  harden  as  I  watched  it,  while 
the  cab  bumped  over  the  cobbles. 

"How  long  has  this  been  going  on?"  he  said 
at  last,  choking  over  the  words. 

"About  three  months,"  I  said.  Then  I  told 
him  as  much  as  I  could,  tangling  it  up  because 
tlicre  was  so  much  to  say — about  fatlicr's  dcatli, 
and  how  my  mother  had  sewed,  and  why  I  was 
so  dirty  because  I  had  no  soap  and  had  to  sleep 

83 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

in  the  cart,  and  that  I  could  not  make  mother 
miderstand  that  his  letter  had  come. 

"And  I've  been — saving  my  money!"  he 
said,  once,  like  a  groan,  and  his  hand  shook. 
Then  he  became  very  brisk  and  spoke  sharply 
to  the  driver,  ordering  him  where  to  go. 

I  sat  in  the  cab  while  he  got  out  to  see  about 
rooms  and  then  he  came  back  and  took  me  into 
a  place  that  seemed  as  beautiful  as  a  palace — 
a  suite  of  rooms  with  lace  curtains,  and  carpets, 
and  a  piano,  and  a  fireplace.  I  stood  on  some 
papers  and  undressed,  while  Sidney  drew  the 
bath  for  me,  and  it  seemed  as  unreal  as  a  fairy 
tale. 

"Good  heavens,  you're  starving  1"  Sidney 
cried  when  he  saw  how  thin  I  was,  and  he  sent 
out  for  hot  milk  and  biscuits.  Then,  leaving 
me  happy  with  the  hot  water  and  soap  and 
plenty  of  clean  soft  towels,  he  went  out,  taking 
my  rags  done  in  a  bundle. 

When  he  came  back  I  was  sitting  wrapped 
in  his  bathrobe,  curling  my  toes  before  the  fire, 
as  happy  as  I  could  possibly  be.  He  brought 
new  clothes  for  me,  warm  underwear  and  a 
Norfolk  suit  and  new  shoes.  When  I  was 
dressed  in  them,  with  my  hair  combed  and  a 

84) 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

bright  silk  tie  knotted  under  a  clean  white 

o 

collar,  I  walked  up  and  down,  feeling  cocky 
enough  to  speak  to  n  king,  except  when  I  saw 
Sidney's  white  set  face  and  thought  of  my 
poor  mother. 

"I  got  a  permit  to  see  her  to-night,"  Sidney 
said.  "I  have  the  cab  waiting.  I  thought 
maybe  when  she  saw  the  presents  I  brought — 
and  saw  you  looking  so  well — she  always  liked 
you  best — " 

So  we  set  out  in  the  cab  again  for  the  hos- 
pital. I  felt  quite  grand  coming  up  the  steps 
in  my  new  clothes  and  walked  among  the 
nurses,  who  did  not  recognize  me  at  first,  with 
a  superior  air,  speaking  to  them  confidently.  I 
led  Sidney  down  the  long  ward  I  knew  so  well, 
holding  my  head  high,  but  all  my  new  impor- 
tance left  me  when  I  saw  my  mother. 

She  lay  there  with  lier  eyes  closed  and  her 
sweet  face  so  thin,  with  deep  hollows  in  the 
cheeks  and  dark  marks  under  her  lashes,  that 
the  old  fear  hurt  my  heart  and  I  trembled. 

"Is  she — is  she  alive?"  I  asked  the  nurse. 

"Yes.  Speak  to  her  and  rouse  her  if  you 
can,"  she  said.  Sidney  and  I  leaned  over  the 
bed  and  called  to  her. 

85 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

"^lother,  look !  Here's  Sidney  home !  Look, 
mother!"  I  said  cheerily.  , 

*'3ee,  mother  dear — all  the  beautiful  pres- 
ents. Wake  up  and  see — it's  Christmas!" 
Sidney  said,  taking  her  hand.  She  did  not 
seem  to  hear  at  first,  and  then  she  turned  her 
head  on  the  pillow  and  opened  her  eyes. 

"Here  we  are,  mother!"  we  cried  happily. 
"All  the  hard  times  are  over — we'll  have 
Christmas  together — look  at  the  lovely  things 
Sidney's  brought — see  Charlie's  new  clothes." 
We  tumbled  the  words  together,  excited  and 
eager. 

"Is — it — morning?'*  mother  said  painfully. 
"Three  dozen  more  to  sew.  He  shouldn't  keep 
out  the  money  for  spots,  there  were  no  spots  at 
all.  Twelve  make  a  dozen,  and  that's  a  half- 
crown,  and  then  a  dozen  more,  and  then  a 
dozen  more,  and  then  a  dozen  more — "  She 
did  not  know  us  at  all. 

Sidney  spread  over  the  bed  the  beautiful 
shawl  he  had  brought  for  her  and  put  the  ear- 
rings in  her  hand  and  showed  her  the  comb  of 
brilliants  for  her  hair,  which  the  nurses  had  cut 
away,  but  she  only  turned  her  head  restlessly 

86 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

on  the  pillow  and  talked  wildly  until  the  nurse 
told  us  we  must  come  away. 

We  rode  back  to  the  rooms,  not  saying  a 
word.  Sidney  sat  with  his  arm  about  my 
shoulders  and  his  eyes  were  hard  and  bright. 
When  we  were  home  again  he  ordered  up  a 
great  supper  of  chops  and  a  meat  pie  and 
pudding.  We  sat  down  and  he  piled  my  plate 
high  with  food.  Then  suddenly  he  put  his 
arms  down  on  the  table  and  began  to  sob. 

It  was  terrible.  He  could  not  stop.  I  tried 
to  speak  to  him,  but  could  not,  so  after  a 
moment  I  got  up  and  went  over  to  the  window. 
I  stood  there  leaning  m}^  forehead  against  the 
glass,  looking  at  the  lights  outside,  so  miserable 
that  I  could  not  cry.  What  was  the  good  of  all 
this  comfort  without  our  mother? 

Sidney  came  over  after  a  wliile  and  we  stood 
together  not  saying  anything  for  a  long 
time.  Then  he  drew  a  deep  breath  and  said: 
"Well,  all  we  can  do  is  to  go  on.  I  suppose  we 
must  look  up  a  berth  for  you  after  you  have 
been  fed  up  a  bit.    Wliat  do  you  want  to  do?" 

"I  want  to  be  an  actor,"  I  answered  dully. 

"All  right.  We'll  see  what  we  can  do  to- 
morrow," he  said. 

87 


CHAPTER  XI 

In  which  I  vainly  make  the  rounds  of  the  theatrical 
agents ;  almost  go  to  sea ;  and  at  last  get  the  chance 
for  which  I  have  long  been  yearning. 

Nothing,  I  believe,  makes  so  much  difference, 
not  only  with  the  appearance  of  a  man,  but  with 
the  man  himself,  as  good  clothes  and  a  well- 
filled  stomach,  and  this  is  even  more  true  of  a 
boy,  who  is  more  sensitive  to  impressions  of 
every  sort. 

Wlien  I  was  dressed  next  morning  in  my 
new  clothes,  which  already  had  almost  ceased 
to  feel  strange  to  me,  and  had  eaten  a  breakfast 
so  large  that  Sidney's  eyes  widened  with  alarm 
while  he  watched  me,  I  did  not  feel  at  all  like 
the  shabby  boy  of  the  day  before.  I  did  a  few 
dance  steps,  in  high  spirits,  and  mimicked  for 
Sidney's  benefit  a  great  many  of  the  market 
people  and  the  coster  who  had  fed  his  donkey 
carrots.  I  even  assumed  a  little  of  my  old 
patronizing  attitude  toward  Sidney,  who  had 

88 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

never  been  considered  the  clever  one  of  the  fam- 
ily, and  promised  him  large  returns  for  all  he 
had  done  for  me  as  soon  as  I  should  become  a 
famous  actor. 

This  matter  of  cleverness  I  believe  now  to  be 
greatly  overrated.  The  clever  person  is  too 
apt  to  let  his  cleverness  excuse  the  absence  of 
most  of  the  solid  qualities  of  character,  and  to 
rely  on  facility  and  surface  brilliance  to  supply 
the  want  of  industry  and  prudence.  All  my 
life  I  have  been  going  up  like  a  rocket,  all 
sparks  and  a  loud  noise,  and  coming  down  like 
one  again,  but  Sidney  has  always  been  the 
steady  stand-by  of  the  family,  ready  to  pick 
me  out  of  the  mud  and  start  me  up  again.  He 
is  the  better  man  of  the  two. 

That  morning,  though,  after  I  had  eaten  his 
breakfast,  I  could  not  imagine  myself  ever  in 
need  of  help  again  and  my  mind  was  full  of 
future  success  on  the  stage.  I  could  hardly 
wait  while  he  dressed  to  go  with  me  to  the 
agents,  and  when  we  were  in  the  streets  I 
walked  M'lth  a  swagger,  and  pointed  out  the 
siglits  as  if  lie  were  only  a  j^rovlncial  and  I  at 
least  a  capitalist  of  London. 

I  was  just  twelve  then  and  the  law  was  strict 
89 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

against  the  employment  on  the  stage  of  chil- 
dren under  fourteen,  but  I  do  not  remember 
that  I  ever  had  any  difficulty  in  convincing  the 
agents  that  I  was  over  the  legal  age.  My  self- 
confidence  and  my  talent  for  mimicry  were  so 
strong  that  they  overcame  the  impression  of 
my  small  size,  and  I  suppose  the  month  of 
hunger  and  suffering  for  my  mother  had  given 
my  face  an  older  look. 

In  the  weeks  which  followed  Sidney's  home- 
coming we  visited  dozens  of  agents.  I  climbed 
the  long  stairs  to  their  offices  in  a  fever  of 
expectation  and  hope;  I  talked  to  each  agent 
quite  confidently,  and  when  he  had  taken  my 
name  and  address  and  said  he  had  nothing  for 
me  at  present,  I  came  down  again  in  the  depths 
of  gloom,  so  despondent  that  only  a  good 
dinner  and  a  visit  to  the  theater  would  cheer 
me.  I  always  felt  that  I  could  play  the  parts 
much  better  than  any  actor  I  saw,  and  so  I 
came  away  in  high  spirits  again. 

Every  day  we  went  to  see  my  mother,  and 
the  nurses  said  she  was  a  little  better,  but  she 
never  knew  us  or  spoke  to  us  and  we  could  not 
see  any  change.  This  sadness  because  she  could 
not  be  happy  with  us  made  our  rooms  seem 

90 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

gloomy  when  we  returned  to  them,  and  I  know 
that  Sidney  felt  it  always.  Often,  planning 
what  we  should  do  when  she  was  well  again, 
and  how  proud  she  would  be  of  my  success 
when  I  was  a  great  actor,  I  almost  believed  it 
all  true  and  was  as  happy  as  if  it  were.  My 
imagination  has  always  seemed  truer  to  me 
than  facts. 

Christmas  came  and  went  and  I  did  not  have 
an  offer  of  a  place  on  the  stage.  Sidney  must 
go  back  to  sea.  Nearly  all  of  his  savings  were 
gone  and  he  felt  he  must  leave  some  money  to 
buy  little  delicacies  for  my  mother.  The  prob- 
lem of  what  to  do  with  me  bothered  him,  and 
when  he  spoke  of  it,  as  he  did  sometimes,  all 
my  dreams  faded  suddenly  and  I  felt  so  deso- 
late that  if  I  had  been  smaller  I  would  have 
wept  in  despair. 

At  last  he  arranged  with  his  company  to 
take  me  on  the  ship  as  cabin-boy.  He  said  it 
would  not  be  half  bad,  I  might  grow  to  like  the 
sea,  and  altliougli  I  hated  the  thought  of  it,  it 
seemed  l^etter  than  going  back  to  Covcnt  Gar- 
den market  again.  We  were  to  sail  sometime 
in  January,  bound  for  Africa.  As  a  last  resort 
we  made  the  rounds  of  the  theatrical  agents 

91 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

again,  but  there  was  nothing  in  sight  for  me, 
and  so  it  was  settled  that  I  must  go  to  sea. 

Sidney  bought  me  a  little  bag  and  packed  it 
with  the  things  I  should  need  on  ship-board. 
We  gave  up  the  lodgings  and  paid  a  last  visit 
to  mother.  This  time  she  was  quieter  and 
looked  at  us  several  times  almost  as  if  she  recog- 
nized us.  It  nearly  broke  my  heart  to  leave 
her  so,  but  we  could  not  think  of  anything  else 
to  do. 

The  morning  of  our  last  day  in  London  my 
breakfast  almost  choked  me.  Our  bags  were 
packed,  waiting  beside  our  chairs,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  everything  in  the  world  was 
wrong.  I  knew  I  should  not  like  the  sea.  The 
maid  had  brought  in  a  few  letters,  with  the  bill 
for  the  lodgings,  and  Sidney  was  looking  them 
over.  Suddenly  he  looked  at  me  queerly  and 
threw  a  card  across  the  table  to  me. 

"Seems  to  be  for  you,"  he  said.  I  turned  it 
over  in  a  hurry  and  read  it.  It  said,  "Call  and 
see  me,  Frank  Stern,  55  the  Strand."  Frank 
Stern  was  a  theatrical  agent. 

I  leaped  from  my  chair  with  a  shout  of 
excitement. 

"What  price  the  sea  now?"  I  cried.  "I've 
92 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

got  a  place  worth  the  whole  of  it !  Where's  my 
hat?" 

"Go  slow,  go  slow,  lad,"  said  Sidney.  "You 
haven't  got  the  place  yet,  j'ou  know." 

"I've  as  good  as  got  it,"  I  retorted,  tearing 
open  the  bags  to  find  my  comb  and  a  clothes 
brush.  "Come,  now,  Sidney,  lend  me  your 
cane?    An  actor  has  to  have  a  cane,  you  know." 

Sidney  lent  me  his  cane,  and  I  leaped  down" 
the  stairs  three  steps  at  a  time. 

A  tram  would  not  do,  I  must  have  a  cab  to 
go  in  a  style  suiting  my  new  position.  All  the 
way  I  gave  myself  tlie  airs  of  a  great  actor, 
looking  hauglitily  from  the  cab-window  at  the 
common  Londoners  and  thinking  how  the  audi- 
ences would  apx^laud  when  I  strode  down  the 
stage. 

Frank  Stern  was  a  little  man,  plump  and 
important,  with  a  big  diamond  on  his  finger, 
and  he  began  by  clearing  his  throat  in  an  im- 
pressive manner  and  looking  me  over  very 
sharply,  but  I  sat  down  with  a  careless  air, 
swinging  Sidney's  cane  and  asked  hiiii  in  an 
offhand  way  if  he  had  anything  particularly 
good.  At  tlie  moment  so  great  was  the  power 
of  my  imaginings  on   my  own  mind  I   felt 

93 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

quite  careless  as  to  whether  I  got  the  place  or 
not  and  was  resolved  not  to  take  any  small  part 
unworthy  my  talents. 

"It's  the  leading-  part  with  a  provincial  com- 
pany From  Rags  to  Riches/^  he  said.  "Our 
lead's  fallen  sick  and  we  need  a  new  one  in  a 
hurry.    Think  you  can  do  it?" 

"E — Er — provincial  company,"  I  said 
doubtfully.  "I  had  not  thought  of  leaving 
London.    Still — what's  the  screw?" 

"One  pound  ten  a  week,"  he  answered. 

"Impossible!"  I  said.  "I  could  not  think 
of  it." 

"Well — we  might  make  it  two  pounds.  We 
need  some  one  in  a  hurry.  If  you  are  a  quick 
study  and  make  a  good  showing  at  rehearsal — 
say  two  pounds.  Yes,  I'll  make  it  two  pounds." 

"It's  a  small  salary — a  very  small  salary,"  I 
said  gruffl}^  I,  who  had  been  glad  to  steal  a 
donkey's  carrots  only  a  few  weeks  earlier!  But 
I  did  not  think  of  that.  I  thought  of  my  great 
talents,  wasted  in  a  provincial  company.  "I'll 
think  it  over,"  I  told  the  agent,  seeing  he  would 
not  increase  the  amount. 

"No.  I  must  know  right  now,"  he  replied 
firmly. 

94. 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  wrinkled  my  brows  with  an  air  of  inde- 
cision and  thou  gilt  for  a  minute. 

"All  right,  I'll  do  it,"  I  said. 

"Rehearsal  to-morrow  at  ten,"  Frank  Stern 
said,  giving  me  the  address  in  a  quite  common- 
place manner. 


CHAPTER  XII 

In  which  I  rehearse  the  part  of  the  boy  hero  of  the 
thrilhng  melodrama,  From  Rags  to  Riches;  and 
start  off  on  a  tour  of  the  provinces. 

I  SAW  Sidney  off  on  the  ship  for  Africa,  having 
induced  him  to  give  me  the  cane,  and  as  I  stood 
waving  at  him  I  was  so  elated  with  success  that 
I  felt  almost  Intoxicated.  I  was  an  actor  at 
last — a  real  actor,  with  a  rehearsal  In  prospect ! 
I  strutted  up  and  down  on  the  dock  a  bit  after 
Sidney  was  gone  feeling  sorry  for  all  the 
people  about,  who  little  realized  what  an  im- 
portant person  they  were  passing  so  heedlessly. 
iThen  I  took  a  cab  again,  as  due  to  my  position, 
and  gave  the  driver  the  address  of  the  rooms 
Sidney  had  taken  for  me  in  Burton  Crescent. 
I  was  not  only  an  actor,  but  a  man  with  an 
income  of  my  own  and  bachelor  chambers.  I 
was  very  haughty  with  the  char-woman  who 
brought  in  the  coals  for  my  fire,  and  I  sat 
frowning  for  some  time  In  an  attitude  of  deep 
thought,  pondering  whether  I  should  have 
cream  tart  or  apple-and-blackberry  pudding 

96 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

for  dinner.  At  last  I  decided  on  both  and  ate 
them  in  state  before  my  own  fire.  It  was  a 
great  evening. 

Next  morning  I  was  divided  between  my 
eagerness  to  hurry  to  the  rehearsal  and  my  feel- 
ing that  it  would  more  accord  with  my  im- 
portance if  I  should  arrive  a  little  late.  It  was 
not  until  the  cab  began  to  rattle  over  the  cobbles 
about  Covent  Garden  market  that  a  sense  of 
strangeness  began  to  come  over  me,  and  I  real- 
ized that  I  had  never  acted  before  and  should 
not  quite  know  what  to  do  at  the  rehearsal.  I 
looked  from  the  w^indows  of  the  cab  at  the 
costers'  donkeys  and  thought  what  a  short  time 
ago  I  had  envied  them,  woebegone  and  hungry 
as  they  were. 

The  rehearsal  was  in  a  room  over  a  public 
house  in  Covent  Garden,  and  as  I  climbed  the 
stairs  I  began  to  feel  small  and  a  bit  uncertain. 
When  I  went  in  the  room  was  full  of  people 
standing  about  or  sitting  on  boxes,  and  they 
all  looked  at  me  with  interest.  At  one  end, 
near  the  rough  stage,  was  a  little  table  with 
three  important-looking  men  standing  beside 
it,  and  after  a  look  around  I  walked  up  to  them. 

"I  am  Charles  Chaplin,"  I  said,  wishing  I 
97 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

were  taller.  "I  am,  I  believe,  to  play  leading 
man  in  your  production." 

They  looked  me  over  as  JNIr.  Stern  had  done, 
rather  sharply,  and  then  introduced  themselves. 
The  man  in  the  dirty  plaid  waistcoat  was  Joe 
Baxter,  manager  of  From  Mags  to  Riches^  and 
also  the  villain  in  the  piece.  The  company  had 
been  playing  for  a  ten-weeks'  round  of  the 
suburbs  and  was  now  about  to  go  into  the 
provinces.  They  were  already  delayed  by  the 
illness  of  the  lead,  which  ]Mr.  Baxter  cursed 
roundly,  and  his  chief  interest  in  me  was  the 
hope  that  I  was  a  quick  study.  I  assui'ed  him 
that  I  was,  and  without  any  further  talk  lie 
began  to  read  the  play  to  me. 

It  appeared  that  I  was  to  play  the  boy  hero, 
an  earl's  son,  defrauded  of  my  rights  b}^  the 
villain  after  my  mother  had  pitifully  died  in 
the  streets  of  London  with  property  snow  sifted 
on  her  from  the  flies.  I  wandered  in  rags 
through  three  acts,  which  contained  a  couple  of 
murders,  a  dozen  hair-breadth  escapes,  and 
comic  relief  by  the  comedian,  and  I  came  tri- 
umphantly into  my  own  in  the  foiu'th  act, 
where  the  villain  died  a  terrible  death. 

Now  whether  my  liking  for  mimicry  came  to 

98 

f 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

my  aid  or  whether  my  own  experiences,  so 
much  like  those  of  the  part  I  was  to  j)lay,  had 
given  me  material  which  I  used  unconsciously, 
I  do  not  know,  but  w^hen  ]Mr.  Baxter  gave  me 
my  part  and  asked  me  to  read  it,  I  did  it  well. 
]Mr.  Baxter  stood  chewing  his  cigar  when  I  had 
finished,  and  the  look  on  his  face  was  less  dis- 
contented. 

"Orl  right,"  he  said  briskly.  "Now,  ladies 
and  gents,  ready!  First  act,  second  scene, 
Lord  Plympton's  droring-room!  You  walk 
through  this  and  read  your  part,"  he  said  to  me. 
**No  time  for  study,  got  to  play  Sweetbay  to- 
morrow night.    Do  the  best  you  can  with  it." 

The  woman  who  was  to  play  my  mother  came 
m-er  while  I  stood  waiting  with  the  part  in  my 
hand.  She  was  a  thin  sallow  woman  in  a 
bright  red  waist  and  a  hat  with  blue  and  yellow 
feathers. 

"Have  a  toffy?"  she  said,  holding  out  a  bag. 

"No,  thanks.  I  left  off  eating  them  years 
ago,"  I  answered,  swinging  my  cane. 

"Horrid  play,  aren't  it?"  she  went  on. 
"Beastly  life,  on  tour.  How  do  you  like  your 
part?" 

"Oh,"  I  answered  carelessly,  "it's  not  much 
99 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

of  a  part,  but  I  do  what  I  can  with  it.  I  won't 
mind  the  provinces  for  a  season.  I'm  tired  of 
London." 

"Here  you,  Reginald — Chaplett,  w^hatever 
your  name  is — come  on!"  JMr.  Baxter  yelled, 
and  I  started  forward  on  to  the  stage.  ]Mr. 
Baxter  uttered  such  a  sound,  between  a  groan 
and  a  roar,  that  I  stopped,  startled. 

"Good  Gawd !"  he  moaned.  "That's  the  win- 
dow, you  idiot!  Come  through  the  door! 
Come  through  the  door!  A^Hiat  do  you  think 
you  are,  a  bloomin'  bird?" 

It  was  hard  work,  rehearsing  on  the  bare 
stage,  with  no  idea  what  the  scenery  was  to  be, 
and  ]SIr.  Baxter  went  from  rage  to  profanity 
and  from  that  to  speechlessness  and  groans 
while  he  drove  us  through  the  parts.  We 
worked  all  day  and  late  into  the  night  and  he 
did  not  let  me  sto]3  a  minute,  although  I  grew 
hungry  and  the  smell  of  the  fried  fish  the  other 
actors  ate  wliile  I  was  on  the  stage  took  my 
mind  from  the  work.  At  last  he  let  me  go,  with 
a  groan. 

"It  couldn't  well  be  worse!"  he  said  grimly. 
"Now,  ladies  and  gents,  Waterloo  station 
eleven  sharp  to-morrow,  ready  fer  Sweetbay!" 

100 


Siipcicilioiis    <  'li;nlit' 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  came  very  wearily  down  the  flight  of  stairs 
holding  the  bundle  of  manuscript  and  my  cane 
while  the  words  of  my  part  and  all  the  stage 
directions  buzzed  together  in  my  brain.  I  had 
not  money  enough  for  a  cab ;  if  we  were  to  go 
to  Sweetbay  the  next  day  I  must  walk  back  to 
my  rooms.  It  was  a  cold  foggy  night  and  my 
steps  sounded  loud  and  echoing  on  the  pave- 
ments as  I  hurried  along,  tired  and  hungry, 
almost  ready  to  wish  for  a  coster's  cart  that  I 
might  crawl  into  and  rest.  But  I  held  as  firmly 
as  I  could  to  the  thought  that  I  was  an  actor, 
though  finding  small  comfort  in  it,  and  when  at 
last  I  had  reached  my  rooms  I  had  persuaded 
myself  that  I  was  driven  by  the  duties  and 
ambitions  of  a  great  position.  So  I  scowled 
fiercely  at  my  reflection  in  the  mirror  over  the 
mantel,  and  tying  a  towel  about  my  head  so 
as  to  look  the  character  of  a  diligent  student,  I 
sat  all  night  reading  the  w^ords  of  my  part  and 
committing  them  to  memory. 

Next  morning,  when  I  reached  the  station 
with  my  bag,  the  rest  of  the  company  was  wait- 
ing, very  draggled  and  weary  looking,  while 
Mr.  Baxter  bustled  about,  swearing  loudly. 
]\Iy  spirits  rose  at  the  noise  and  excitement  of 

101 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

the  starting,  and  when  I  saw  the  compartment 
labeled,  "Reserved:  From  Rags  to  Riches 
company,"  I  held  my  head  proudly  again,  hop- 
ing that  passers-by  would  notice  and  say  to 
each  other,  "See!  He  must  be  the  leading 
man." 

I  lingered  on  the  platform  until  the  last 
minute,  looking  as  important  as  I  could  and 
thinking  how  well  the  cane  carried  out  the 
effect,  and  then,  as  the  engine  began  to  pufF 
and  the  train  sloAvly  started,  I  swung  myself 
aboard  and  walked  into  the  compartment  where 
the  company  was  settling  itself  for  the  trip  to 
Sweetbay. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

In  which  I  encounter  the  difficulties  of  a  make-up 
box ;  make  my  first  appearance  in  drama ;  and 
learn  the  emptiness  of  success  with  no  one  to 
share  it. 

The  rest  of  the  company  were  very  glum  on 
that  journey  to  Sweetbay,  sitting  hunched  up 
any  way  in  their  seats  and  looking  drearily 
from  the  windows,  not  even  glancing  at  me  as 
I  strode  up  and  down  the  compartment,  mur- 
muring the  words  of  my  part  to  myself  and 
hoping  Mr.  Baxter  was  noticing  how  studious 
I  was. 

"Well  enough  for  you,  old  man,"  I  said  to 
myself,  seeing  him  absorbed  in  a  copy  of 
Floats  and  not  even  looking  in  my  direction.' 
"Wait  till  you  see  me  actl"  But  I  felt  my 
spirits  somewhat  dampened  by  his  indifFerence, 
nevertlieless. 

When  the  train  stopped  at  Sweetbay  I 
stepped  to  the  platform  Avith  a  lively  air  and 
stood  looking  around  while  the  others  dragged 
down  the  steps.     It  was  raining  a  little,  very 

103 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

few  people  were  about  and  they  w^re  not  at  all 
interested  in  us,  which  seemed  to  me  a  personal 
affront. 

"Hustle,  now !  No  time  to  look  for  lodgings 
till  after  matinee!"  Mr.  Baxter  said  briefly,  and 
set  off  at  a  brisk  pace,  the  rest  of  us  straggling 
behind  him  through  the  streets. 

I  walked  as  jauntily  as  possible,  swinging 
my  cane  with  an  air,  but  the  gloom  of  it  all 
depressed  me.  I  wished  myself  older  than 
twelve  years,  and  larger,  so  that  I  would  not 
have  to  look  up  at  the  others,  and  I  wondered  if 
I  could  do  the  make-up  right,  but  determined 
not  to  ask  any  one  how  it  was  done.  I  had 
bought  a  make-up  box  and  experimented  a  bit 
before  my  mirror,  but  I  was  doubtful  of  the 
effect  on  the  stage. 

When  we  reached  the  Theater  Royal,  a  dark 
smelly  place,  with  littered,  dirty  dressing- 
rooms,  I  felt  quite  helpless  before  the  problem. 
It  appeared  that  all  the  men  were  to  share  one 
dressing-room,  and  I  crowded  into  the  tiny 
place  with  the  others  and  opened  my  make-up 
box,  ashamed  of  its  new  look.  The  comedian 
and  Lord  Plympton,  who  behind  the  scenes  was 
a   sallow    gloomy   individual   with    a   breath 

104. 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

smelling  of  beer  and  onions,  sat  down  at  once 
in  their  shirt-sleeves  before  the  small  cracked 
mirrors  and  began  smearing  their  faces  with 
grease-paint,  for  we  were  late,  and  already  the 
lights  had  gone  on  in  front  and  a  few  people 
were  shuffling  in. 

I  made  shift  with  the  make-up  as  best  I 
might  and  hurried  into  the  ragged  suit  I  was 
to  wear  in  the  first  scene,  pinning  it  up  in  small 
folds  about  me,  for  it  was  the  costume  worn  by 
the  former  lead  and  too  large  for  me.  How- 
ever, I  hoped  to  make  it  do,  and  when,  by  the 
glimpses  I  could  get  of  myself  in  the  mirror, 
it  seemed  to  be  all  right,  I  left  the  dressing- 
room  and  wandered  into  the  wings,  feeling 
wtII  satisfied  witli  myself. 

The  stage  was  shadowy  and  dark  behind  the 
big  canvas  scenes.  "A  street  in  a  London 
slums"  was  already  set,  and  the  scene  shifters, 
swearing  in  hoarse  whispers,  were  wheeling 
Lord  Plympton's  drawing-room  into  position 
for  a  quick  change.  I  made  my  way  warily 
around  this  and  encountered  INIr.  Baxter,  who 
was  rushing  about  in  a  frenzy,  roundly  cursing 
everything  in  sight.  When  he  saw  me  he 
stopped  short. 

105 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

"Good  GordI"  he  cried.  "Going  on  like 
this?" 

"What's  wrong?"  I  asked,  startled. 

"Wrong?  Wrong?  Why  was  I  ever  a 
manager?'*  moaned  Mr.  Baxter,  seizing  his 
head  in  both  hands.  "You  gory  idiot  1"  he  ex- 
ploded, and  seemed  to  choke. 

"What's  the  row,  Joe?"  the  woman  who  was 
to  play  my  mother  asked,  coiliing  over  to  us, 
while  I  stood  very  uneasy  and  doubtful  what 
to  say. 

"Look  at  'im!"  roared  'Mr,  Baxter.  "How 
many  times  have  I  told  him  he's  pathetic — 
PATHETIC!  And  here  he  comes  with  a 
face  like  a  bloomin'  cranberry!  And  he  goes 
on  in  six  minutes!" 

"I'll  look  out  for  the  lad,"  the  woman  said, 
kindly  enough,  and  taking  me  by  the  hand  she 
led  me  into  the  women's  dressing-room,  where 
she  made  up  my  face  with  her  own  paint  and 
powder  and  I  squirmed  with  humiliation. 

"It's  your  first  shop,  aren't  it?"  she  said, 
drawing  the  dark  circles  under  my  eyes,  and 
I  drew  myself  up  with  as  much  dignity  as  pos- 
sible in  the  circumstances    and    said    stiffly, 

106 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

"This  is  my  first  engagement  with  a  provincial 
company." 

Then  I  returned  to  the  wings  and  waited 
with  beating  heart  for  my  cue.  ]Mr.  Baxter, 
made  up  as  the  villain  now,  stood  beside  me 
giving  me  last  orders,  but  my  head  whirled  so 
I  could  hardly  hear  him,  and  all  the  lights  made 
a  dazzling  glare  in  my  eyes.  Then  my  cue 
came — my  mother,  on  the  stage,  moaned 
piteously,  and  ]Mr.  Baxter  gave  me  a  little 
push.  I  stumbled  out  on  the  stage,  crying, 
"See,  mother  dear,  here  is  a  crust!" 

The  blinding  glare  in  my  eyes  and  the  con- 
fusion in  my  brain  were  over  in  a  minute.  The 
strangeness  of  it  all  fell  away  from  me,  and,  in 
a  manner  I  can  not  explain  to  one  who  is  not 
an  actor,  I  was  at  the  same  time  the  ragged, 
hungry  child,  starving  in  Covent  Garden  mar- 
ket, and  the  self-conscious  actor  playing  a  part. 
I  wept  sincerely  for  the  suffering  of  my  poor 
mother,  who  moaned  at  my  feet,  and  at  the 
same  time  I  said  to  myself,  proudly, "What, hoi 
noiv  they  see  how  pathetic  I  am,  what?"  When 
I  did  not  remember  the  words  I  made  them  up, 
paying  no  heed  to  the  villain's  anxious  prompt- 

107 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

ing  behind  his  hand,  and  I  defied  him  vigor- 
ously at  the  close  of  the  act,  crying,  "You  shall 
touch  my  mother  only  over  my  dead  body!" 
with  enthusiasm.  The  curtain  fell  and  there 
was  a  burst  of  applause  behind  it. 

"Not  half  bad,  what?"  I  said  triumphantly 
to  Mr.  Baxter,  while  my  stage  mother  scram- 
bled to  her  feet,  and  he  replied  moodily,  "Don't 
be  so  cocky,  young  'un.  There's  three  acts  yet 
to  go." 

But  I  was  warmed  up  to  the  work  now  and 
I  enjoyed  it,  wandering  forlorn  through  my 
imitation  griefs  and  at  last  coming  grandly 
into  my  rights  as  the  earl's  son  and  wearing  the 
splendor  of  the  velvet  suit  with  great  aplomb 
in  the  last  act,  although  I  was  obliged  sur- 
reptitiously to  hold  up  the  trousers  with  one 
hand  because  I  could  not  find  enough  pins  in 
the  dressing-room  to  make  them  fit  me.  I  felt 
that  I  was  the  hit  of  the  piece  and  rushed  out 
of  the  theater  afterward  to  find  lodgings  and 
eat  a  chop  before  the  evening  performance 
with  all  the  emotions  of  an  actor  who  had 
arrived  at  the  pinnacle  of  fame.  I  could  not 
forbear  telling  the  waiter  who  sen'^ed  me  the 
chop,  a  grimy  little  eating  house  not  far  from 

108 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

the  theater,  that  I  was  the  leading  man  of  the 
From  Rags  to  Riches  company  and  must  be 
served  quickly,  as  pressing  duties  awaited  me 
at  the  theater  before  the  evening  performance. 
He  looked  down  at  me  with  a  broad  grin  on 
his  fat  face  and  said,  "You  don't  say,  now!"  in 
a  highly  gratifying  tone,  although  I  wished  he 
had  said  it  more  solemnly. 

That  night,  sitting  alone  in  my  bed-sitting- 
room  in  actors'  lodgings,  I  was  greatly  pleased 
with  myself  and  wished  only  that  my  mother 
were  there  to  see  me.  I  wrote  her  a  long  letter, 
telling  her  how  well  I  had  done  and  promised 
to  send  her  at  least  ten  shillings,  and  perhaps  a 
pound,  when  I  was  paid  on  Saturday.  Then 
I  went  out  into  the  dark  silent  streets  where  the 
rain  fell  mournfully  to  post  it.  The  night  was 
very  gloomy.  After  all,  I  was  only  twelve  and 
had  no  friends  anywhere  except  Sidney,  who 
had  gone  to  Africa.  I  thought  of  my  mother 
lying  alone  in  the  hospital  and  perhaps  not  able 
to  understand  my  glad  news  when  it  should 
arrive,  and  such  a  feeling  of  sadness  and  loneli- 
ness came  over  me  that  I  hurried  back  to  my 
room  and  crawled  into  bed  without  lighting  the 
gas,  very  unhappy,  indeed. 

109 


CHAPTER  XIV 

In  which  I  taste  the  flavor  of  success ;  get  unexpected 
word  from  my  mother;  and  face  new  responsibil- 
ities. 

However,  though  I  never  entirely  forgot  my 
mother  in  London,  I  enjoyed  the  life  on  tour 
with  the  From  Mags  to  Riches  company,  with 
all  the  excitement  of  catching  trains  and  find- 
ing different  lodgings  in  each  town,  and  I 
never  understood  the  grumblings  of  the  others 
when  we  traveled  all  night  and  had  to  rush 
to  a  matinee  without  resting.  I  liked  it  all; 
I  liked  the  thrill  of  having  to  pause  in  a  scene 
while  the  audience  applauded,  as  they  did 
pretty  often  after  I  became  used  to  the  stage. 
I  liked  standing  with  the  others  after  the  Sat- 
urday matinees,  when  Mr.  Baxter  came  around 
giving  each  one  his  salary,  and  I  had  great 
fun  afterward  jingling  the  two  pounds  in  my 
pocket  and  feeling  very  wealthy  and  important 
when  I  spent  sixpence  for  a  copy  of  Floats. 

110 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

Best  of  all  I  like  lying  late  in  bed  Sunday 
mornings,  as  I  could  do  sometimes,  and  look- 
ing for  my  name  in  the  provincial  journals — 
"Charles  Chaplin,  as  Reginald,  showed  an  ar- 
tistic appreciation  which  gives  promise  of  a 
brilliant  future,"  or  "Charles  Chaplin,  the  tal- 
ented young  actor,  plays  the  part  of  Reginald 
with  feeling." 

Then,  though  no  one  could  see  me,  I  would 
pretend  great  indifference,  yawning  wearily 
and  saying:  "Oh,  very  well  for  a  provincial 
journal,  but  w^ait  till  we  get  to  London  I"  But 
I  always  saved  the  clippings. 

I  became  friendly  with  the  comedian,  vvho 
was  a  fat  good-humored  fellow  enough,  and 
always  got  a  laugh  in  the  third  act  by  sitting 
on  an  egg.  I  sometimes  treated  him  to  oysters 
after  the  show  on  Saturday  nights,  and  he  used 
to  grumble  about  the  stage,  saying:  "It's  a 
rotten  life,  lad,  a  rotten  life.  You'd  be  well 
out  of  it."  Then  lie  w^ould  shake  his  liead 
mournfully  and  stop  a  great  sigh  by  popping 
an  oyster  into  his  mouth. 

"It  suits  me,  old  top,"  I  would  reply,  with 
a  wave  of  my  hand,  tliinking  that  when  I  was 
his  age  I  would  have  London  at  my  feet. 

Ill 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  did  not  care  much  for  the  others  in  the 
company,  as  I  felt  they  greatly  underrated 
my  importance,  and  I  especially  shunned  Cora, 
the  woman  who  played  my  mother,  because  she 
was  inclined  to  make  a  small  boy  of  me  behind 
the  scenes,  and  would  inquire  if  my  socks  were 
darned  or  if  my  underwear  were  warm,  no  mat- 
ter who  was  present. 

In  the  spring  the  tour  of  From  Rags  to 
Riches  came  to  an  end.  For  the  last  time  I 
clutched  my  stage  mother  while  the  paper  snow 
was  sifted  on  us  from  the  flies;  for  the  last 
time  I  defied  the  villain  and  escaped  the  mur- 
derer and  wore  the  velvet  suit,  very  shabby 
now,  but  fitting  better,  when  I  came  back  to 
Lord  Plympton's  drawing-room. 

I  felt  very  depressed  and  lonely  when  I  came 
off  the  stage.  The  company  was  breaking  up, 
most  of  them  were  gone  already,  and  the 
"Street  in  a  London  Slum"  had  been  loaded 
into  a  wagon  with  "The  Thieves'  Den"  and 
"The  Thames  at  Midnight."  No  one  was  in 
sight  but  the  grubby  scene  shifters,  who  were 
swearing  while  they  struggled  with  Lord 
Plympton's  drawing-room,  and  the  dressing- 
room  was  deserted  by  all  but  the  comedian, 

112 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

who  was  very  drunk,  and  said  mournfully: 
"It's  a  rotten  life,  it's  a  rotten  life." 

I  dressed  quickly  and  went  back  to  my  lodg- 
ings, wondering  with  a  sinking  heart  what  I 
should  do  next.  I  had  seen  enough  of  stage 
life  by  that  time  to  realize  that  it  was  not  easy 
to  get  a  hearing  on  the  Strand,  and  for  the 
first  time  I  took  small  comfort  in  the  thought 
of  my  pile  of  clippings  from  the  provincial 
journals.  'My  rooms  were  cold  and  dark,  but 
no  gloomier  than  my  mood  when  I  went  in, 
hunting  in  my  pockets  for  a  match  to  light  the 
gas. 

WHien  the  gas  flared  up  I  saw  a  letter 
propped  against  the  cold  pasty  set  out  for  my 
supper.  I  took  it  up,  surprised,  for  it  was  the 
first  letter  I  had  ever  received,  and  then  I  saw 
on  the  envelope  the  name  of  the  parish  hos- 
pital where  I  had  left  mj^  mother. 

I  tore  it  open  quickly,  but  my  hands  were 
shaking  so  it  seemed  a  long  time  before  I  could 
get  the  slieet  of  paper  out  of  the  envelope.  I 
held  it  close  to  the  gas  and  read  it.  It  said 
that  my  mother  had  asked  tliem  to  write  and 
say  slic  was  glad  I  was  doing  so  well.  She 
was  able  to  leave  the  liospital  now  if  I  could 

113 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

take  her  away,  or  should  they  send  her  to  the 
almshouse,  as  she  was  not  strong  enough  to 
work? 

I  could  not  eat  or  sleep  that  night.  Some 
time  about  dawn  the  landlady  came  knocking 
at  my  door  and  spoke  bitterly  through  the  pan- 
els about  my  wasting  her  gas,  threatening  to 
charge  it  extra  on  the  bill.  I  said  I  was  pack- 
ing, paid  her  for  the  lodging,  and  told  her  to 
go  away.  Then  I  went  out  with  my  bags,  in 
a  very  dark  and  chilly  morning,  when  the  early 
carts  were  beginning  to  rattle  through  the 
empty  streets.  I  rode  up  to  London  on  the 
first  train,  my  mind  torn  between  joy  and  a 
sort  of  panic,  confused  with  a  dozen  plans,  all 
of  which  seemed  valueless. 

]My  mother  was  sitting  up  in  bed  with  Sid- 
ney's shawl  wrapped  about  her  when  I  was  al- 
lowed to  see  her.  Her  hair  was  longer  and 
curled  about  her  face,  but  there  were  dark  cir- 
cles under  her  eyes  and  she  looked  very  little, 
almost  like  a  child. 

"JNIy,  my,  what  a  great  lad  you've  grown!" 
she  said,  and  then  she  began  to  cry.  The  least 
excitement  made  her  sob,  and  her  hands  trem- 
bled all  the  while  I  was  there. 

114 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

"Never  j^ou  mind,  mother;  I'll  take  care  of 
you!"  I  said  briskly,  and  I  told  her  what  a 
great  success  I  had  become  on  the  stage.  It 
was  the  first  pose  I  had  ever  taken  which  did 
not  deceive  myself,  for  I  wondered,  miserably, 
while  I  talked,  what  we  should  do  if  I  could 
get  no  engagement.  I  promised  to  take  her 
soon  to  beautiful  lodgings,  and  the  words 
sounded  hollow  to  me  as  I  said  them,  but  she 
seemed  pleased  and  was  greatly  cheered  when 
I  left  her.  Without  stopping  to  look  for  lodg- 
ings for  mj^self,  I  hurried  at  once  to  the  Strand, 
eager  to  see  the  agents. 

Now  in  the  success  or  failure  of  an  actor  a 
great  deal  depends  on  luck,  as  I  was  very  wil- 
ling to  admit  later  when  it  turned  against  me, 
although  in  the  early  days  I  ascribed  all  my 
good  fortune  to  my  own  great  merit.  On  that 
day  when  I  walked  down  the  Strand  I  passed 
do/x'ns  of  actors  who  had  been  struggling  for 
years  to  find  a  footliold  on  the  stage,  going 
from  one  small  part  to  another,  with  months 
of  starvation  between,  furbisliing  up  their 
shabljy  clothes  and  walking  endless  miles  up 
and  down  the  stairs  to  the  agents'  offices  in 
vain.     The  numbers  of  them  appalled  me. 

115 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

Frank  Stern's  outer  office  was  full  of  them 
and  they  did  not  leave  off  watching  his  door 
with  hungry  eyes  to  look  at  me  when  I  walked 
in  and  gave  my  card  to  the  office  boy. 

"Can't  see  you,"  he  said  briefly,  without 
looking  at  it.  "No  use  the  rest  of  you  wait- 
ing, either,"  he  said  raising  his  voice.  "Jle 
won't  see  nobody  else  to-day." 

They  rose  and  began  to  straggle  out,  some 
of  them  protesting  with  the  office  boy,  who  only 
looked  at  them  contemptuously,  repeating, 
"He  won't  see  nobody."  I  was  following  them 
when  Frank  Stern's  door  opened  and  he  ap- 
peared. "*' 

"Oh,  hello,  my  lad!"  he  said  genially. 
"You're  just  the  chap  I  want  to  see.  Come 
in,  come  in!"  He  ushered  me  into  his  inner 
office,  clapping  me  on  the  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  XV 

In  which  I  understand  why  other  people  fall ;  burn 
my  bridges  beliind  me ;  and  receive  a  momentous 
telegram. 

This  time  I  sat  in  Frank  Stern's  office  with 
no  inflated  opinion  of  my  own  importance,  only 
hoping,  with  a  fast-beating  heart,  that  he 
would  offer  me  some  place  with  a  salary.  I 
could  hardly  hear  what  he  said  for  thinking  of 
the  few  coins  in  my  pocket  and  my  mother  in 
the  hospital  waiting  for  me  to  come  back  and 
take  her  to  the  beautiful  lodgings  I  had  prom- 
ised to  engage. 

"Joe  Baxter  tells  me  you  did  fairly  well  on 
tour,"  the  agent  said,  after  an  idle  remark  or 
two.  "He's  taking  out  Jim,  the  Romance  of 
a  Cockney  in  a  few  weeks.  How  would  you 
like  the  lead?" 

"I'd  like  it,"  I  said  eagerly,  and  realized  the 
next  minute  I  had  done  myself  out  of  a  raise 
in  the  pay  by  not  asking  first  how  much  it 
would  he.  !But  tlie  relief  of  having  a  part  was 
so  great  that  I  did  not  much  care. 

117 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  came  whistling  down  the  stairs  after  I  had 
left  Frank  Stern,  and  in  the  Strand  I  looked 
with  a  different  eye  on  the  actors  I  passed, 
beginning  to  think  that,  after  all,  they  must 
lack  real  merit  such  as  I  had,  or  else  they 
drank  or  were  not  willing  to  work.  I  saw  the 
comedian  from  the  From  Rags  to  Riches  com- 
pany, looking  very  seedy,  and  was  passing  him 
with  a  nod  when  he  stopped  me. 

"How's  tricks?"  he  asked  of  me.    "Shopped 

yet?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have  an  engagement,"  I  replied 
carelessly,  swinging  my  cane.  "Only  a  pro- 
vincial company,  but  not  so  bad.'* 

"I  say,  not  really?"  he  said,  surprised. 
"You're  in  luck.  Look  here,  old  chap,  could 
you  lend  me  five  bob  ?" 

"Well,  no,"  I  answered.  "No,  I'm  afraid 
not.  But  I  hope  you're  shopped  soon.  You 
ought  to  quit  drinking,  you  know — you'd  do 
better." 

"Well  enough  for  you  to  talk,  my  lad. 
You'll  think  different  when  you've  been 
tramping  the  Strand  for  twenty  years,  like  I 
have,  and  never  a  decent  chance  in  the^whole 
of  them.     You're  on  top  now,  but  you'll  find 

118 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

it's  not  all  beer  and  skittles  before  you've  done. 
I  saj^,  make  it  three  bob — or  two?" 

I  gave  him  a  shilling  and  he  begged  me  to 
say  a  word  to  Baxter  for  him,  which  I  meant 
to  do,  but  later  forgot.  Then  I  went  search- 
ing lodgings  for  my  mother.  I  found  them 
in  a  private  home  for  convalescents  in  Burton 
Crescent — very  decent  rooms  with  a  little  bal- 
cony overlooking  a  small  park,  and  Mrs. 
Dobbs,  the  landlady,  seemed  a  pleasant  person 
and  promised  to  look  out  for  my  mother  while 
I  was  on  tour. 

]My  mother  was  delighted  when  she  saw  the 
place,  laughing  and  crying  at  the  same  time, 
while  I  wrapped  her  in  Sidney's  shawl  and 
made  her  comfortable  with  some  cusliions  on 
the  couch  before  the  fire.  We  had  tea  together 
very  cozily,  and  I  told  her  I  should  soon  be 
a  great  London  actor,  which  she  firmly  be- 
lieved, only  saying  I  was  too  modest  and  made 
a  mistake  in  going  on  tour  when  I  should  have 
at  least  a  good  part  in  a  West  End  theater. 

By  closest  economy  I  managed  to  send  her 
a  pound  every  wTck  during  that  season  with 
Jim^  the  Uomance  of  a  Cockney,  though  some- 
times going  without  supper  to  buy  the  en- 

119 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

velope  and  stamp;  and  because  it  is  not  pov- 
erty, but  economy,  which  teaches  the  value  of 
a  penny,  I  learned  it  so  thoroughly  that  year 
that  I  have  never  forgotten  it.  The  only  part 
of  the  tour  which  I  enjoyed  was  the  time  I 
spent  on  the  stage,  when  I  forgot  my  constant 
thought  of  money  and  lived  the  romantic  joys 
and  griefs  of  Jim.  I  played  the  part  so  well, 
perhaps  for  this  reason,  that  I  was  becoming 
kno^^Ti  as  one  of  the  most  promising  boy  actors 
in  England,  and  I  used  to  clip  every  mention 
of  my  acting  which  I  could  find  and  send  it 
to  my  mother  in  the  Saturday  letter. 

When  I  came  back  to  London  at  the  close 
of  the  season  I  expected  nothing  less  than  a 
rush  of  the  managers  to  engage  me.  I  walked 
into  Frank  Stern's  office  very  chesty  and  im- 
portant with  not  even  a  glance  for  the  office 
boy  or  the  crowd  of  actors  patiently  waiting 
and  knocked  on  his  door  with  my  cane.  Then 
I  pushed  it  open  and  went  in. 

Frank  Stern  was  sitting  with  his  feet  on  his 
desk,  smoking  and  reading  Floats  in  great  con- 
tentment. He  leaped  to  his  feet  when  he  heard 
me  walk  in,  but  when  he  saw  who  it  was  he 
welcomed  me  boisterously. 

120 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY] 

"Glad  to  see  you  back,  glad  to  see  you!"  he 
said  jovially.    "Sit  do^\Ti." 

"No,  thanks.  I  just  dropped  in  to  see  what 
you  had  to  offer  for  next  season,"  I  said  care- 
lessly. "It  must  be  something  good  this  time, 
you  know." 

His  cordiality  dropped  like  a  mask;  he 
looked  at  me  very  sternly. 

"There's  a  part  in  His  Mother  Left  Him 
to  Starve/'  he  said.  "We  could  use  you  in 
that." 

"How  much  salary?"*  I  asked.; 

"Two  pounds,"  he  answered  sharply. 

"No,  thanks,"  I  said  airily.  "Though  IJ 
won't  say  I  mightn't  consider  it  for  four." 

"Then  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  anything,"  h^ 
said,  and  turned  back  to  his  desk  as  though 
he  were  very  busy.  I  went  out  whistling,  so 
sure  of  my  value  that  I  was  careless  of  offend- 
ing him.  And  indeed  when,  ten  days  later, 
I  was  offered  the  part  of  Billy,  the  page,  in 
Sherlock  Holmes,  at  a  salary  of  thirty  shil- 
lings, I  was  sure  that  I  had  acted  astutely, 
and  gave  myself  credit  for  good  business  sense 
as  well  as  great  talent.  I  even  had  some 
thoughts  of  holding  out  for  a  part  in  the  Lon- 

121 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

don  company,  and  if  I  had  had  a  few  shilHngs 
more,  or  any  money  to  pay  for  my  mother's 
lodgings,  I  might  have  been  foohsh  enough 
to  do  it. 

As  it  was,  I  walked  into  the  rooms  where 
the  company  was  rehearsing  with  a  feeling  that 
it  was  a  condescension  on  my  part  to  go  on 
tour  again,  and  marching  briskly  up  to  the 
prompter's  table,  laid  my  cane  upon  it— a 
breach  of  theatrical  etiquette  at  which  the  com- 
pany stood  aghast.  I  never  did  it  again,  for 
that  day's  work  with  a  real  stage  manager 
gave  me  my  first  idea  of  good  acting,  and  I 
left  late  that  night  with  my  vanity  smarting 
painfully. 

"*Act  natural!'"  I  said  to  myself,  bitterly 
mocking  the  stage  manager.  "  'Talk  like  a 
human  being!'  My  eye,  what  do  they  think 
the  people  want?  I  act  like  an  actor,  I  talk 
like  an  actor,  and  if  they  don't  like  it  they  can 
jolly  well  take  their  old  show!  I  can  get  bet- 
ter!" 

Nevertheless,  I  went  back  next  day  an3 
v/orked  furiously  under  the  scathing  sarcasm 
and  angry  oaths  of  the  manager  until  I  had 
learned  the  part  passably  well  and  forgotten 

122 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

most  of  the  stage  tricks  I  had  found  so  effective 
in  From  Bags  to  Riches.  The  night  before 
we  went  on  tour  I  had  dinner  with  my  mother, 
who  was  still  in  the  care  of  ^Irs.  Hobbs,  so 
thin  and  nervous  that  it  worried  me  to  see  her, 
and  she  was  fluttering  with  excitement  and 
overjoyed  at  my  being  a  great  actor,  but  for 
the  first  time  I  doubted  it. 

However,  the  press  notices  speedily  brought 
back  my  self-confidence.  In  almost  every  town 
they  praised  my  work  so  highly  that  the  actor 
who  played  Holmes  gave  me  cold  glances 
whenever  he  saw  me  and  even  cut  bits  of  my 
part.  Then,  though  complaining  bitterly,  I 
knew  I  had  really  "arrived,"  and  I  openly 
grinned  at  him  before  the  company,  and  de- 
manded a  better  dressing-room. 

Just  before  the  close  of  the  tour  I  was  stand- 
ing in  the  wings  one  evening  confiding  to  one 
of  the  actresses  my  intention  of  placing  a  bent 
pin  in  Holmes'  chair  on  the  stage  next  eve- 
ning, where  I  calculated  it  would  have  great 
effect,  owing  to  his  drawing  his  dressing  gown 
tight  around  him  with  a  dignified  air  just  be- 
ff)re  sitting  down,  when  a  boy  came  up  and 
gave  me  a  telegram.     I  tore  it  open,  fearing 

123 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

bad  news  from  my;  mother,  and  read  it.     It 
said: 

"William  Gillette  opens  in  Sherlock  Holmes 
here  next  week.  Wants  you  for  Billy.  Charles 
Frohman." 

William  Gillette!     Charles  Frohman! 


CHAPTER  XVI 

In  which  I  j  ourncy  to  London ;  meet  and  speak  with 
a  wax-works  figure ;  and  make  my  first  appearance 
in  a  great  tlieater. 

I  DO  not  know  how  I  got  through  my  act  that 
night.  I  was  in  such  a  flurry  of  excitement  and 
so  jubilant  over  the  great  news  that  I  missed 
my  cues  and  played  with  only  half  my  wits 
on  my  work,  careless  how  Holmes  frowned 
at  me.  Every  one  in  the  company  had  heard 
of  my  telegram  from  Frohman  before  the  end 
of  the  second  act,  and  I  knew  they  were  watch- 
ing me  enviously  from  the  wings.  I  rushed 
past  them,  in  wild  haste  to  get  to  the  dressing- 
room  and  take  off  my  make-up  as  soon  as  my 
last  scene  was  finished,  and  I  was  half  dressed 
while  they  were  taking  the  curtain  call. 

I  met  Holmes  and  the  manager  just  outside 
the  dressing-room  and  resigned  my  place  in 
their  company  with  great  haughtiness. 

"Of  course — cr — you  understand  that  I — ; 
er — can  not  do  justice  to  my  art  as  long  as 
I  am  supported  by  merely  provincial  actors,'* 

125 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  said,  looking  at  Holmes  as  majestically  as 
I  might  from  a  height  two  feet  less  than  his. 
Then  I  drew  the  manager  aside  and  said 
kindly,  "Of  course,  old  man,  I  appreciate  all 
youVe  done,  and  all  that — any  time  I  can  do 
anything  for  you  with  Frohman,  you  under- 
stand, you've  only  to  say  the  word." 

The  entire  company,  excepting  only 
Holmes,  was  at  the  station  to  see  me  off  next 
morning,  and  since  in  the  meantime  my  first 
vainglory  had  diminished  and  I  felt  more  my 
usual  self,  there  was  a  jolly  half -hour  before 
the  train  left.  Every  one  wished  me  luck  and 
promised  to  come  to  see  me  act  in  London, 
while  I  assured  them  I  would  not  forget  old 
friends,  and  the  manager  clapped  me  heartily 
on  the  back  and  said  he'd  always  known  I 
would  do  great  things.  They  gave  a  great 
cheer  when  the  train  started  and  I  waved  at 
them  from  the  back  platform.  Then  I  was  off, 
to  London  and  fame. 

Early  the  next  afternoon,  dressed  in  a  new 
suit  with  new  shirt  and  tie  to  match,  I  arrived 
at  the  Duke  of  York's  Theater  in  the  West 
End  and  inquired  for  the  stage  manager.  I 
had  to  wait  for  him  a  minute  on  the  dim  stage 

126 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

and  I  stood  looking  out  over  the  rows  of  empty 
seats  in  the  big  dark  house,  thrilling  to  think 
that  before  long  they  would  be  filled  with  scores 
of  persons  watching  me  act.  Then  JNIr.  Post- 
ham  came  hurrying  up,  a  very  busy  man  with  a 
quick  nervous  voice.  I  told  him  who  I  was, 
and  he  gave  me  the  manuscript  of  my  part  in 
a  hurried  manner. 

"That's  all.  Rehearsal  here,  nine  to-mor- 
row," he  said.  Then,  as  I  was  turning  away, 
he  added,  "Like  to  see  Mr.  Gillette?" 

"I  would,  yes,"  I  answered  eagerly,  and 
tried  to  clutch  at  my  self-possession,  which  I 
had  never  lacked  before,  while  the  boy  led  me 
til  rough  the  dim  passages  to  ]Mr.  Gillette's 
dressing-room.  The  boy  knocked  at  the  door 
of  it,  said  loudly,  "Mr.  Chaplin  to  see  Mr.  Gil- 
lette," and  left  me  standing  there,  breathing 
hard. 

An  instant  later  the  door  opened  and  a  lit- 
tle Japanese,  perfectly  dressed  in  the  clothes 
of  an  English  man-servant,  popped  into  the 
aperture.  I  had  never  seen  a  Japanese  servant 
before,  and  Iiis  appearance  so  confounded  me 
that  I  could  only  look  at  him  and  repeal  M-Iiat 
the  boy  had  said,  while  I  fumbled  in  my  pocket 

127  ' 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

for  a  card  and  wondered  if  it  would  be  proper 
to  give  it  to  him  if  I  should  find  one.  It  ap- 
peared that  it  was  not  necessar3%  for  he  opened 
the  door  wider.    I  stepped  in. 

William  Gillette  was  sitting  before  his  dress- 
ing-table, busy  with  make-up.  He  rose  to 
meet  me — a  very  tall  stately  man,  his  face  en- 
tirely covered  with  dead  white  paint.  The 
\\  hole  place  was  white — the  walls,  the  dressing- 
table,  even  the  floor,  as  I  remember  it — and  the 
whiteness  was  intensified  by  a  glare  of  strong 
^vhite  light.  In  that  bright  glare,  and  under 
the  mask  of  white  paint,  Mr.  Gillette  did  not 
seem  like  a  real  man.  He  seemed  like  some 
fantastic  curio  in  a  glass  case. 

"You're  to  play  Billy,  I  understand,"  he 
said,  looking  keenly  at  me  through  narrow, 
almost  almond,  eyes.    "How  old  are  you?" 

"Fourteen,  sir,"  I  answered  as  if  hypnotized, 
for  I  was  now  telling  every  one  that  I  was  six- 
teen. 

"I  hear  you*re  a  very  promising  young 
actor,"  he  said.  "I  hope  you'll  make  a  good 
Billy — what  did  you  Avant  to  see  me  about?" 

"I  just  wanted  to  see  you,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  I'm  very  glad  weVe  met,"  he  said, 
128 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

looking  amused,  I  thought.    "If  I  can  be  any 
help  to  you,  come  again,  won't  you?" 

I  think  I  replied  suitably  as  I  backed  out. 
I  reached  the  street  before  I  quite  recovered 
from  the  effect  of  his  strange  appearance  in 
that  white  room.  I  had  met  one  of  the  great- 
est actors  on  the  English  stage,  and  I  felt  as 
though  1  had  seen  a  figure  in  a  wax-works  and 
it  had  spoken  to  me. 

Then,  when  I  stood  on  the  curb  in  all  the 
noise  of  the  London  traffic,  I  realized  that  the 
events  of  that  momentous  day  were  all  real. 
I  was  engaged  to  play  with  William  Gillette 
in  the  finest  of  West  End  theaters;  I  held  tlie 
manuscript  of  my  part  in  my  hand.  Excited 
and  jubilant,  I  rushed  oiF  to  tell  my  mother 
the  great  news,  and  then  to  engage  lodgings 
of  my  o-v^Ti,  where  I  spent  all  that  evening 
walking  up  and  down,  rehearsing  the  part  of 
Billy,  only  pausing  now  and  then,  with  a 
whoop,  to  do  a  few  dance  steps  or  stand  on  my 
head. 

The  next  morning  I  was  one  of  the  first  to 
reach  the  theater  for  rehearsal.  I  had  risen 
early  to  take  a  few  turns  up  and  down  tlie 
Strand,  hoping  to  meet  some  one  I  knew  to 

129 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

whom  I  could  mention  casually  that  I  was  with 
Frohman  now,  hut  every  one  I  passed  was  a 
stranger  and  I  had  to  content  myself  with 
looking  haughtily  at  them  and  saying  to  my- 
self: "'You  wouldn't  half  like  to  he  on  your 
way  to  rehearsal  with  William  Gillette,  would 
you  now?    What,  ho!" 

Mr.  Postham  proved  to  be  different  from  the 
stage  managers  I  had  known  before.  Pie  was 
nervous  and  excitable,  but  no  matter  how  badly 
an  actor  read  his  lines,  IMr.  Postham  never 
swore  at  him. 

"No,"  he  said  quietly.  "This  way,  'I'll  do 
it,  sir.'  No,  not  'I'll  do  it,  sir,'  but  'I'll  do  it, 
sir.'  Try  it  again.  No,  that's  a  little  too  em- 
phatic. Listen,  'I'll  do  it,  sir.'  Not  quite  so 
self-confident.  Again,  'I'll  do  it,  sir.'  Once 
more,  please."  He  never  seemed  to  grow  tired. 
He  kept  us  at  it  for  hours,  watching  every 
detail,  every  inflection  or  shade  of  tone,  and 
his  patience  was  endless.  It  was  new  work 
to  me,  but  I  liked  it;  and  after  rehearsal  I 
would  practise  for  hours  in  my  rooms,  liking 
the  sound  of  my  voice  in  the  different  tones. 

William  Gillette  had  come  to  London  witK 
a  play  called  Clarice,  which  had  not  gone  well. 

130 


W  illiain    (.illctlc   as   Slirrhn  k    llnlmrs 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

He  was  putting  on  Sherlock  Holmes  to  save 
the  season  and  rushing  rehearsals  in  order  to 
have  the  new  play  ready  in  the  shortest  possible 
time.  We  worked  all  day,  and  twice  were 
called  for  midnight  rehearsals,  after  Clarice 
was  oiF  the  boards.  Two  weeks  after  I  reached 
London  we  were  called  at  seven  in  the  morning 
for  dress  rehearsal.  Sherlock  Holmes  was  to 
be  put  on  that  night. 

Everything  went  wrong  at  the  dress  re- 
hearsal. We  were  overworked  and  nervous; 
we  missed  our  cues;  some  of  the  properties 
were  lost ;  INIr.  Postham  w^as  intensely  quiet.  I 
was  very  well  pleased  by  it  all,  for  every  East 
End  actor  knows  that  a  bad  dress  rehearsal 
means  a  good  first  performance,  but  the  man- 
ager and  ]Mr.  Gillette  did  not  seem  to  share 
my  opinion,  and  the  company  scattered  gloom- 
ily enough  when  at  last  they  let  us  go,  with 
admonitions  to  be  early  at  the  theater  that 
night. 

I  was  made  up  and  dressed  for  the  first 
scene  early,  and  hurried  out  to  the  peep-hole 
in  the  curtain,  hoping  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
my  mother  in  the  audience.  I  had  got  tickets 
for  her  and  Mrs.  Ilobbs  and  ordered  a  carriage 

131 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN^'S  OWN  STORY 

for  them,  as  my  mother  was  not  strong  and 
could  not  come  in  a  tram.  The  house  was  fill- 
ing fast.  Behind  the  scenes  there  was  tense 
breathless  excitement;  scene  shifters  and  stage 
carpenters  were  hurrying  back  and  forth ;  there 
was  a  furious  scene  over  something  mislaid. 
Every  one's  nerves  were  strained  to  the  break- 
ing point. 

The  curtain  went  up.  From  the  wings, 
where  I  stood  waiting  for  my  cue  and  saying 
my  lines  over  and  over  to  myself  with  a  tight 
feeling  in  my  throat,  I  saw  Mr.  Gillette  open- 
ing the  scene.  I  listened  carefully  to  every 
word  he  spoke,  knowing  that  every  one  brought 
my  entrance  nearer.  Suddenly  Mr.  Postham 
touched  my  shoulder. 

"Royalty's  in  front,'*  he  said.  "Whatever 
you  do,  don't  look  at  the  royal  box." 

Then,  on  the  stage,  Mr.  Gillette  spoke  my 
cue.  I  put  back  my  shoulders,  cleared  my 
throat,  and  stepped  out  on  the  stage,  my  brain 
repeating,  "Don't  look  at  the  royal  box.'* 


CHAPTER  XVII 

In  which  I  play  with  a  celebrated  actor;  dare  to  look 
at  the  royal  box ;  pay  a  penalty  for  my  awful 
crime;  gain  favor  with  the  public;  and  receive  a 
summons  from  another  famous  star. 

My  nerves  were  stretched  tight,  like  badly; 
tuned  violin  strings,  and  I  seemed  to  feel  them 
vibrate  when  I  stepped  on  the  stage  and  spoke 
my  opening  line,  with  Gillette's  eyes  upon  me 
and  the  packed  house  listening.  ^My  brain  was 
keyed  to  a  high  pitch,  working  smoothly,  but 
it  did  not  seem  in  any  way  attached  to  my  body, 
and  I  heard  the  words  as  though  some  one  else 
had  spoken  them.  They  were  clear,  firm,  the 
accent  perfect.  I  felt  myself  stepping  three 
steps  forward,  one  to  the  right,  and  turning 
to  ]Mr.  Gillette;  heard  my  second  line  spoken, 
with  the  emphasis  placed  properly  on  the  third 
word. 

"Don't  look  at  the  royal  box,"  I  said  to  my- 
self. 

Then  I  was  in  the  swing  of  the  scene.  Mr. 
Gillette  spoke;  I  answered  him;  the  situation 
came  clearly  into  my  mind.     I  realized  that 

133 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  was  playing  opposite  William  Gillette,  that 
the  eyes  of  London  were  on  me,  and  royalty 
itself  listening.  I  threw  myself  into  the  work, 
quivering  with  the  strain  of  it,  but  determined 
to  play  up  to  the  big  moment.  I  was  doing 
well.  I  knew  it.  I  saw  it  in  the  relaxation 
of  Mr.  Gillette's  anxious  watching.  He  was 
abandoning  himself  to  his  part,  tmsting  me  to 
play  up  to  him. 

"Now,  l^illy,  listen  to  me  carefully,"  he  said. 
I  turned  my  head  to  the  right  angle,  felt  the 
muscles  of  my  face  quiver  with  the  exact  ex- 
pression that  should  be  there. 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  rej^lied,  with  the  exact  tone  of 
eagerness  I  had  practised  so  often.  Gillette 
took  up  his  lines.  The  scene  was  going  well. 
The  house  hung  breathless  on  everj''  word. 

"Don't  look  at  the  royal  box,"  I  repeated 
to  myself,  feeling  an  almost  irresistible  long- 
ing to  turn  my  head  in  that  direction,  and  stif- 
fening my  neck  against  it. 

I  did  not  know  who  was  in  the  box  and 
would  have  been  no  wiser  if  I  had  looked,  for 
I  had  never  seen  the  royal  family,  but  I  learned 
later.  The  late  King  Edward  himself  was 
present,  with  Queen  Alexandria,  the  King  of 

134 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

Greece,  Prince  Christian  and  the  Duke  of  Con- 
naught.  Prince  Christian,  who  was  a  personal 
friend  of  William  Gillette,  came  often  to  see 
him  act,  but  this  was  an  unusually  brilliant 
party. 

I  stood  tense,  waiting  for  my  cue.  It  came 
at  last. 

"Billy,  I  want  you  to  watch  the  thieves," 
said  Sherlock  Holmes. 

It  was  a  thrilling  moment  in  the  play.  I 
must  be  silent  just  long  enough — not  too  long 
— before  I  spoke.  I  heard  my  heart  beat  in 
the  pause;  the  audience  waited,  tense.  The 
house  was  silent. 

Then,  in  the  stillness,  we  heard  a  murmur 
from  Prince  Christian,  and  an  impatient  stage 
whisper  in  reply  from  the  King  of  Greece. 

"Don't  tell  me — don't  tell  me ;  I  want  to  see 
it,"  he  said.    "Jove,  watch  that  youngster!" 

The  tension  of  my  nerves  broke.  William 
Gillette,  in  an  effort  to  save  tlie  dramatic  mo- 
ment of  the  scene,  repeated,  "Billy,  I  want  you 
to  watch  the  thieves."  And,  while  the  house 
gazed  at  mc,  I  turned  my  head  and  looked  full 
at  the  royal  box. 

The  audience  was  stunned.  It  sat  dumb,  in 
135 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

frozen  horror.  There  was  an  awful  silence, 
while  I  stood  helpless,  gazing  at  the  King  of 
Greece,  and  he  stared  back  at  me  with  slowly 
widening  eyes.  Then  his  face  broke  into  little 
lines;  they  ran  down  from  his  eyes  to  his 
mouth;  it  widened  into  a  smile.  A  sudden 
chuckle  from  King  Edward  broke  the  terrible 
stillness.  Again  we  heard  the  voice  of  the 
King  of  Greece: 

"By  Jove!    Ha!    Ha!" 

I  tore  my  eyes  away  and  continued  the  scene 
through  a  haze.  We  finished  it  before  a  silent 
house.  The  curtain  fell.  Then,  led  by  the 
royal  box,  a  storm  of  applause  arose.  We  took 
our  curtain  call — I  was  on  the  stage  of  a  great 
West.  End  theater,  bowing  before  applauding 
crowds,  in  the  company  of  one  of  the  greatest 
actors  in  London.  The  voice  of  royalty  itself 
had  been  heard  speaking  of  my  acting.  I  was 
dizzy  with  exultation. 

The  curtain  fell  for  the  last  time  and  I 
strutted  proudly  from  the  stage,  looking  from 
one  to  another  of  the  company,  eager  to  meet 
their  envious  looks.  They  hurried  to  their 
dressing-rooms  without  a  glance  at  me.  No 
one  spoke.    There  was  a  strained  chill  feeling 

136 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

in  the  atmosphere.    I  passed  Mr.  Postham  and 
he  hurried  by  me  as  if  I  were  not  there. 

A  feeling  of  trouble  and  loneliness  grew 
upon  me  while  I  touched  up  my  make-up  for 
the  second  scene,  though  I  told  myself  as  con- 
fidently as  possible  that  my  looking  at  the 
royal  box  could  not  have  been  so  bad,  since  the 
King  of  Greece  had  smiled  and  Mr.  Postham 
had  said  nothing.  Yet  I  would  have  been  more 
at  ease  if  he  had  sworn  at  me. 

I  threw  myself  into  the  work  of  the  remain- 
ing scenes  with  all  the  skill  I  had  learned,  and 
I  felt  that  I  was  doing  them  well,  but  the  cold 
feeling  of  uncertainty  and  doubt  grew  upon 
me.  At  last  the  final  curtain  fell.  Then  for 
the  first  time  that  evening  the  eyes  of  the  whole 
company  turned  on  me.  They  lingered  on  the 
stage,  waiting.  Mr.  Postham  walked  slowly 
out  and  looked  at  me  quietly. 

"Well,  it  went  well,  didn't  it?"  I  said  cockily 
to  him,  saying  savagely  to  myself  that  I  had 
been  the  hit  of  the  evening.  My  words  fell 
on  a  dead  silence,  while  INIr.  Postham  contin- 
ued to  look  at  me,  and  little  by  little  I  felt 
myself  growing  very  small  and  would  have 
liked  to  go  away,  but  could  not. 

187 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

"I  suppose  you  realize  what  you  did,"  Mr. 
Postham  said,  after  a  long  time,  and  paused. 
I  opened  my  mouth,  but  could  not  say  a  word. 

"It  is  fortunate — very  fortunate — that  His 
Majesty — was  pleased — to  overlook  it,"  Mr. 
Postham  continued  slowly.  He  paused  again. 
"Fined  three  pounds,"  he  said  briskly,  then, 
and  walked  away.  So  I  went  meekly  from 
the  scene  of  my  first  appearance  in  a  good  the- 
ater under  the  scornful  and  surprised  glances 
of  the  other  actors,  who  had  expected  to  see 
the  part  taken  from  me,  and  I  said  bitterly  to 
myself  that  if  this  was  the  reward  of  talent  on 
the  stage — ! 

I  did  good  work  that  season  with  William 
Gillette,  as  all  the  press  notices  showed.  Every 
morning,  lying  luxuriously  in  bed  in  my  lodg- 
ings, I  pored  over  the  London  journals,  seiz- 
ing eagerly  on  every  comment  on  my  acting, 
reading  and  rereading  it.  I  was  the  "most 
promising  young  actor  on  the  English  stage," 
I  was  "doing  clever  work,"  I  was  "the  best 
Billy  London  has  seen  yet."  To  me,  as  I 
gazed  at  these  notices,  William  Gillette  was 
merely  "also  mentioned."  I  felt  that  I  alone 
was  making  the  play  a  success  and  I  walked 

138 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

afterward  up  and  down  the  Strand  in  a  glow 
of  pride  and  self-confidence,  dressed  in  all  the 
splendor  money  could  buy,  swinging  my  cane, 
nodding  carelessly  to  the  men  I  knew  and  pic- 
turing tliem  saying  to  each  other  after  I  had 
passed,  "He  is  the  great  actor  at  the  Duke  of 
York's  Theater.    I  knew  him  once." 

The  season  was  drawing  to  a  close  and, 
learning  that  William  Gillette  was  returning 
to  America,  I  confidently  expected  nothing  less 
than  an  invitation  to  return  with  him,  when 
one  day  I  arrived  at  the  theater  early  and 
found  a  note  awaiting  me.  I  tore  it  open  care- 
lessly and  read : 

"Will  you  please  call  at  St.  James'  Theater 
to-morrow  afternoon?    I  should  like  to  see  you. 

"Mrs.  Kendall." 

"Oh,  ho!  ISIrs.  Kendall!"  I  said  to  myself. 
"Well,  she  will  have  to  offer  something  good 
to  get  me!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

In  which  I  refuse  an  offer  to  play  in  the  provinces ; 
make  my  final  appearance  as  Billy  at  the  Duke 
of  York's  Theater ;  and  suffer  a  bitter  disappoint- 
ment. 

I  ASSUMED  a  slightly  bored  air  while  I  glanced 
through  the  note  again.  Oh,  yes,  jNIrs.  Ken- 
dall I  The  greatest  actress  in  London.  Well, 
I  would  call  on  her  if  she  liked;  I  would  just 
drop  in  and  see  what  she  had  to  offer.  Some- 
thing good,  no  doubt,  but  I  should  soon  show 
her  that  it  would  have  to  be  something  very 
good  indeed  if  she  hoped  to  get  me, 

I  flipped  the  note  under  the  dressing-table 
and  began  to  make  up,  wondering  what  Amer- 
ica would  prove  to  be  like,  picturing  to  myself 
the  enthusiasm  of  American  reporters  when  it 
was  known  that  William  Gillette  was  bringing 
England's  greatest  boy  actor  to  New  York 
with  him. 

*'Curtain!"  cried  the  call  boy  down  the  cor- 
ridors, I  called  him  in,  hastily  scribbled  off  a 
note  to  Mrs.  Kendall,  saying  that  I  would  call 
at  twelve  next  day,  and  gave  it  to  the  call  boy 

140 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

to  post.  Then  I  went  out,  nodding  affably 
to  the  other  actors,  and  took  my  place  in  the 
wings  to  await  my  cue. 

*'Too  bad  the  season's  closing,  isn't  it?"  said 
Irene  Vanbrugh,  who  stood  beside  me. 

"Oh,  it's  been  a  pleasant  season  enough,  as 
seasons  go,"  I  replied  carelessly.  "The  deuce 
of  it  is,  there's  no  rest  between  'em  when  one 
has  made  a  hit.    Rehearsals  and  all  that." 

"Y-yes,"  she  said,  looking  at  me  queerly. 

"And  it's  such  a  bore,  so  many  people  after 
one,"  I  continued.  "Now,  there's  Mrs.  Ken- 
dall, very  pleasant  woman  and  all  that — had 
another  note  from  her  just  now.  Suppose  I'll 
have  to  run  around  and  see  her  again." 

"Oh,  I  say,  IMrs.  Kendall — not  really  I"  Miss 
Vanbrugh  cried,  in  such  a  tone  of  awe  that  it 
annoyed  me.  Mrs.  Kendall  was  well  enough, 
I  said  to  myself,  but  I  was  the  greatest  boy 
actor  in  England.  I  took  my  cue  confidently, 
glad  not  to  be  bothered  with  any  more  of  Miss 
Vanbrugh's  conversation. 

The  next  day  at  noon  I  arrived  at  Mrs.  Ken- 
dall's hotel,  humming  a  bit  and  swinging  a  new 
cane,  very  well  pleased  with  myself,  for  the 
notices  in  the  London  journals  had  been  very 

141 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

good  indeed  that  day.  I  noticed  that  the  lift 
boy  recognized  me  and  seemed  properly  im- 
pressed, and  I  stepped  into  Mrs.  Kendall's  sit- 
ting-room disposed  to  be  quite  affable  to  her. 

She  was  not  there.  I  waited  five  minutes 
and  still  she  had  not  come.  I  began  to  be  irri- 
tated. What,  keeping  me  waiting!  I  glanced 
at  my  watch,  walked  up  and  down  a  minute, 
very  much  bored  with  such  lack  of  considera- 
tion on  her  part.  Then  I  determined  to  leave 
and  show  her  I  was  not  to  be  trifled  with  in 
such  a  manner.  Just  as  I  took  up  my  cane 
the  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Kendall  entered. 
She  was  a  jDleasant  matronly-looking  woman 
with  tired  lines  around  her  eyes  and  a  quiet 
gentle  manner. 

"I'm  afraid  I  have  just  a  minute,"  I  said, 
ostentatiously  looking  at  my  watch  again. 

*'I'm  very  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting," 
she  answered  in  a  soft  low  voice.  "We  under- 
stand your  season  with  Mr.  Frohman  is  ending 
next  week.  JNIr.  Kendall  and  I  have  seen  your 
work.  We  are  taking  out  a  comj^any  for  a 
forty-weeks'  tour  in  the  provinces,  and  there 
is  a  part  with  us  which  we  think  you  would  fill 
very  well." 

142 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  looked  at  her  with  raised  eyebrows. 

"In  the  provinces?"  I  said  coldly.  "I  am 
very  sorry,  madam,  but  I  could  not  think  of 
leaving  London."  I  took  up  my  cane  again 
and  rose  briskly. 

^Irs.  Kendall  looked  at  me  a  moment  with 
a  tired  smile  about  her  lips.  Then  she  rose, 
said  that  in  that  case  she  regretted  having 
taken  up  my  time,  and  told  me  good-by  very 
pleasantly. 

"She  sees  she  can  not  oifer  me  anything!" 
I  said  proudly  to  myself,  putting  back  my 
shoulders  importantly  as  I  came  down  in  the 
lift.  I  walked  through  the  hotel  lounging- 
room  with  a  quick  brisk  step,  called  a  cab  and 
said  to  the  driver  in  a  loud  voice,  so  the  by- 
standers might  guess  who  I  was,  "Duke  of 
York's  Theater,  and  be  quick  about  it,  my 
man!" 

I  awaited  confidently  an  oifer  from  Froh- 
man  to  bring  me  to  New  York  with  William 
Gillette,  determining  when  it  came  to  insist  on 
an  increase  in  salary.  Kvery  evening  I  ex- 
pected to  find  a  note  from  him  in  my  dressing- 
room,  and  I  met  the  gloomy  glances  of  the 
other  actors  with  a  wise  smile  and  a  knowing 

143 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

look.  They  might  be  troubled  with  the  pros- 
pect of  an  uncertain  future,  I  said  to  myself, 
but  I  was  secure.  I  had  made  the  hit  of  the 
piece,  as  the  nightly  applause  showed. 

The  last  week  of  Sherlock  Holmes  drew  to 
a  close,  and  with  a  sinking  heart  I  realized 
that  no  offer  had  come  from  Frohman.  I 
played  my  part  every  night  with  all  the  skill 
I  knew,  and  hearing  the  house  echo  and  echo 
again  with  loud  applause,  I  said  to  myself, 
"Now  Frohman  will  see  how  badly  he  needs 
me!"    [But  still  there  was  no  word  from  him. 

The  last  night  came,  and  behind  the  scenes 
there  was  such  a  deep  gloom  that  one  could 
almost  feel  it  like  a  fog.  There  was  no  joking 
in  the  dressing-rooms,  the  actors  moodily  made 
up  and  walked  about  the  corridors  afterward 
with  strained  anxious  faces  or  laughed  in  a 
manner  more  gloomy  than  silence.  The  com- 
pany was  breaking  up,  no  one  loiew  what  part 
he  might  find  next,  and  all  faced  the  prospect 
of  wearily  walking  the  Strand  again,  strug- 
gling to  get  a  hearing  with  the  agents,  hoping 
against  hope  for  a  chance,  growing  shabbier 
and  hungrier  as  they  waited  and  hoped  and  saw 
the  weeks  going  by. 

144 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

For  the  last  time  I  played  Billy;  for  the 
last  time  I  met  Mr.  Gillette's  kindly  glance  and 
felt  him  pat  my  shoulder,  saying,  "Well  done, 
Billy!"  while  the  audience  applauded.  We 
stood  together  on  the  stage,  bowing  and  smil- 
ing, while  the  curtain  rose  and  fell  and  rose 
again  and  applause  came  over  the  footlights 
in  crashing  waves.  Then  the  curtain  fell  for 
the  last  time. 

"It's  over,"  said  Mr.  Gillette,  his  shoulders 
drooping  with  weariness.  Then  he  spoke  a 
word  or  two  of  farewell  to  each  of  us  and  went 
to  his  dressing-room.  The  actors  hurriedly 
took  off  their  make-up  and  scattered,  calling 
to  one  another  in  the  corridor.  "Well,  so  long, 
old  man  I"  "See  you  later,  Mabel,  tatal" 
"Wait  a  minute,  I'm  coming  I"  "Good  luck 
old  fellow  1" 

I  dressed  slowly,  unable  to  believe  that  this 
was  the  last  night  and  that  there  was  no  offer 
from  Mr.  Frohman.  Mr.  Gillette  was  still  in 
his  dressing-room.  I  walked  up  and  down 
outside  his  door  debating  whether  or  not  to  tap 
on  it  and  ask  him  if  there  had  not  been  a  mis- 
take. 

"I  was  the  hit  of  the  play,  wasn't  I?'*  I  said 
145 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

defiantly  to  myself,  but  a  great  wave  of  doubt 
and  depression  had  come  over  me  and  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  knock  on  that  door.  Sud- 
denly it  opened  and  Mr.  Gillette  came  out 
dressed  for  the  street.  Behind  him  I  saw  the 
Japanese  servant  carrjang  a  bag. 

"JNIr.  Gillette,"  I  said  boldly,  though  my 
knees  were  unsteady.  "Aren't  you  taking  any 
of  the  company  to  America  with  you?" 

"Er — oh,  it's  you!"  he  said,  startled,  for  he 
had  almost  stumbled  against  me  in  the  gloom. 
"No ;  oh,  no ;  I'm  not  taking  any  one  with  me. 
You  were  a  very  good  Billy,  Charles.  I  hope 
you  get  something  good  very  soon.    Good-by." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

In  which  my  fondest  hopes  are  shattered  by  cold  real- 
ity ;  I  learn  the  part  played  by  luck  on  the  Strand ; 
and  receive  an  unexpected  appeal  for  help. 

I  STOOD  there  watching  Mr.  Gillette's  back  re- 
ceding- down  the  corridor.  I  felt  stunned, 
unable  to  realize  that  he  was  really  going.  I 
could  not  believe  that  it  was  all  over,  that  he 
did  not  mean  to  take  me  to  America  after  all. 
He  stopped  once  and  my  heart  gave  a  great 
leap  and  began  to  pound  loudly,  but  he  only 
spoke  to  some  one  he  met  and  then  went  on. 
He  turned  a  corner,  the  little  Japanese  servant 
turned  the  corner  after  him,  carrying  the  bag. 
They  were  gone. 

I  went  back  into  my  dressing-room  then  and 
made  a  little  bundle  of  my  stage  clothes  and 
make-up  box.  The  stage  hands  had  finished 
clearing  the  stage;  it  was  bare  and  dim  when  I 
crossed  it  and  came  out  through  the  stage  door 
for  the  last  time.  A  cold  gray  fog  was  drift- 
ing down  tlie  deserted  street  and  I  wished  to 
take  a  cab,  but  it  came  to  me  suddenly  tliat  I 

147 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

had  no  part  now  and  could  not  afford  it.  I 
tucked  my  bundle  under  my  arm  and  set  out 
on  foot  for  my  lodgings. 

All  the  way  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  in  a 
bad  dream — a  dream  where  I  must  walk  on 
and  on  and  on  mechanically  through  an  unreal 
world  of  blurred  lights  and  swirling  grayness. 
I  climbed  the  stairs  to  my  lodgings  at  last,  still 
with  a  dull  hazy  feeling  of  unreality,  lighted 
the  gas  and  sat  down  on  my  bed  with  the 
bundle  beside  me.  Then  it  came  upon  me 
sharply  that  it  was  all  true.  The  season  was 
over.  I  was  not  going  to  America.  I  had 
only  a  few  pounds  and  no  prospect  of  getting 
another  part. 

I  unfolded  the  little  suit  I  had  worn  as 
■Billy  and  looked  at  it  for  a  long  time,  suffer- 
ing as  only  a  sensitive  boy  of  fifteen  can  when 
he  sees  all  his  brightest  hopes  come  to  nothing. 
I  walked  up  and  down,  clenching  my  hands 
and  wishing  tliat  I  might  die.  It  was  almost 
dawn  when  I  folded  the  little  suit,  put  it  away 
in  the  farthest  corner  of  a  closet  and  crawled 
miserably  to  bed. 

Next  morning  I  felt  brighter.  After  all,  I 
had  made  a  big  hit  as  Billy;  there  must  be 

148 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

any  number  of  managers  in  London  who  would 
be  glad  to  get  me.  There  were  no  letters  for 
me  in  the  mail,  but  I  said  to  myself  that  I  must 
give  them  time.  I  would  put  an  advertisement 
in  The  Strand^  mentioning  that  I  was  "rest- 
ing," and  they  would  come  around  all  right.  I 
wrote  it  out  carefully,  dressed  my  best  and 
took  it  down  to  The  Strand  office  myself  so 
there  would  be  no  delay.  Then  I  went  to  see 
my  mother  and  told  her  lightly  that  I  had  not 
decided  just  what  offer  to  accept.  I  could  not 
trouble  her,  for  she  had  not  recovered  her 
strength  fully  and  could  only  lie  on  her  couch 
and  smile  happily  at  me,  proud  of  my  great 
success. 

All  that  month  my  hopes  gradually  faded 
while  I  went  from  agent  to  agent  trying  to  get 
a  part.  At  first  my  name  got  me  an  interview 
with  the  agent  immediately,  but  each  one  I  saw 
told  me  quite  courteously,  quite  briskly,  that  he 
had  nothing  whatever  to  offer  me  and  I  came 
out  of  each  office  with  a  sinking  heart,  holding 
my  haughty  pose  with  difficulty. 

I  got  up  early  every  morning  to  see  as  many 
agents  as  possi})le  during  the  day,  and  although 
before  the  other  actors  I  still  kept  my  pose  of 

149 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

being  a  great  success,  merely  dropping  in  to 
pass  the  time  of  day  with  the  agent,  I  felt  panic 
growing  within  me.  JMy  small  stock  of  money 
was  gone.  I  pawned  my  watch,  my  clothes,  at 
last  even  my  bag,  and  hoarded  the  pennies 
desperately,  dining  in  small,  dirty  eating 
houses  on  two-pence  worth  of  stew. 

I  still  bravely  made  a  show  of  importance 
and  success  when  I  met  the  other  actors  tramp- 
ing the  Strand,  lying  miserably  to  them  as  they 
lied  to  me  while  we  spent  hours  in  the  outer 
offices  of  the  agents,  bullied  by  the  office  boy, 
waiting  hopelessly  for  a  chance  to  see  the 
agents.  The  season  was  far  advanced  and 
chances  for  a  part  grew  smaller  daily,  but  it 
was  incredible  to  me  that  I  should  not  find 
something — I  who  had  made  such  a  hit  with 
William  Gillette!  Every  morning  I  started 
out  saying  to  myself  that  surelj"  I  should  get 
something  that  day,  and  every  night  I  crawled 
wearily  into  my  lodgings,  tired  and  discour- 
aged, avoiding  the  landlady. 

One  day  I  determined  to  stand  it  no  longer. 
I  carefully  trimmed  my  frayed  collar  and 
cuffs,  brushed  my  suit  and  hat  and  went  to  the 
offices  of  the  biggest  agent  of  all,  IMr.  Braithe- 

150 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

waite.  He  was  a  courteous  gentleman  and  had 
always  welcomed  me  politely.  I  walked  in 
with  my  most  important  air. 

"jNIr.  Braithewaite,  I  must  have  a  part,"  I 
said  briskly.  "You  know  my  work.  You 
know  I  made  a  big  hit  with  William 
Gillette.  Now,  I'll  take  anything  you 
can  give  me,  I  don't  care  how  small  it  is  or  what 
it  pays.  Haven't  you  something  in  a  provincial 
company — even  a  walking-on  part?" 

He  thought  it  over  for  some  time  in  silence, 
while  I  heard  my  heart  beating.  Then  he  said 
slowly,  "Well,  there  is  a  part — I  will  see.  You 
come  in  to-morrow." 

I  came  out  whistling  merrily,  stepping  higli 
with  a  dizzy  feeling  that  the  pavement  was 
unsteady  under  my  feet.  I  was  sure  by  his 
manner  that  he  meant  to  have  a  part  for  me 
and  all  my  self-complacency  was  restored.  I 
flipped  my  cane  as  I  passed  the  doors  of  the 
other  agents,  saying  to  myself,  "Oh,  ho!  You'll 
see  what  you  have  missed!"  and  thinking  that 
I  would  carelessly  drop  in  and  tell  those  who 
had  treated  me  worst  how  well  I  was  doing  as 
soon  as  I  should  have  the  part.  That  night  I 
spent  one  of  my  last  two  shillings  for  dinner, 

151 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

feasting  on  tripe  and  onions  and  ale  in  great 
spirits. 

Next  day,  nervous  with  hope,  I  hurried  to 
JNIr.  Braithewaite's  offices  and  walked  in  con- 
fidently, so  wrapped  in  my  own  thoughts  that 
I  did  not  notice  that  no  actors  were  waiting  as 
usual.  I  said  briskly  to  the  office  boy,  trying 
to  keep  my  voice  natural  and  steady,  "Tell  JMr. 
Braithewaite  I  am  here.  I  have  an  appoint- 
ment." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  long  shrill  whistle 
of  surprise.  Then,  with  great  enjoyment  in 
telling  startling  news,  he  said,  "Don't  tell  me 
you  'aven't  'card !  'E  was  shot  by  burglars  last 
night.  'E's  'anging  between  life  and  death 
right  now." 

I  remember  I  stumbled  on  the  stairs  once  or 
twice,  feeling  numb  all  over  and  not  able  to 
walk  steady.  The  bright  sunlight  outside 
seemed  to  jeer  at  me.  My  last  hope  was  gone. 
I  could  not  muster  courage  to  start  again  on 
the  endless  tramp  up  and  down  the  Strand  or 
to  face  the  other  actors.  I  went  back  to  my 
lodgings.  The  landlady  met  me  on  the  stairs 
and  looked  steadily  at  me  with  tight  lips  and 
an  eye  which  said,  "I  know  you  have  only  a 

152 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

shilling;  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  the 
rent?"  I  went  hurriedly  past  her  and  climbed 
up  to  my  room  bitterly  humiliated. 

There  Avas  a  letter  waiting  for  me  on  the 
mantel.  I  seized  it  and  tore  it  open,  wild 
thoughts  that  at  last  I  had  an  offer  whirling 
in  my  brain.  It  was  dated  Paris.  I  looked  at 
the  signature — Sidney!  Good  old  Sidney,  I 
said  to  myself;  he  will  help  me.  Then  I  read 
the  letter. 

"Dear  Charlie,"  it  said.  "Your  press  notices 
are  received  and  no  one  is  gladder  than  I  am. 
You  know  we  always  knew  you  would  be  a 
great  success.  How  does  it  feel  to  have  all 
London  applauding?  I  wager  you  enjoy  cut- 
ting a  dash  on  the  Strand,  what?  Well, 
Charlie,  I  am  in  the  profession  now,  and  not 
so  great  a  success  as  you  yet,  but  I  have  a  pros- 
pect of  a  part  in  a  couple  of  weeks  perhaps. 
You  know  how  it  goes.  Can  you  lend  me  five 
pounds,  or  even  three,  till  I  get  a  part?  Love 
to  mother  and  congratulations  again  to  the 
clever  one  of  the  family. 

"Your  brother,  Sidney." 


CHAPTER  XX 

In  which  I  try  to  drown  my  troubles  in  liquor  and 
find  them  worse  than  before ;  try  to  make  a  living 
by  hard  work  and  meet  small  success ;  and  find 
myself  at  last  in  a  hospital  bed,  saying  a  surpris- 
ing thing. 

I  STARED  stupidly  at  Sidney's  letter  for  a 
minute  and  then  I  reread  it  slowly.  It  seemed 
like  a  horrible  mockery — "cutting  a  dash  on 
the  Strand" — "The  clever  one  of  the  family." 
And  he  wanted  to  borrow  five  pounds — or 
three — when  I  had  only  a  shilling  in  the  world. 

It  was  the  most  bitter  humiliation  of  my  life. 
I  who  had  always  been  so  sure  of  my  talent, 
who  had  patronized  Sidney  and  promised  so 
grandly  to  help  him  if  he  ever  needed  it  and 
sent  him  the  press  notices  of  my  great  success 
with  a  condescending  little  note  saying  that  it 
made  no  difference  to  me,  I  remembered  him 
as  fondly  as  ever — I  could  not  send  him  a 
penny,  or  even  buy  food  for  myself. 

After  a  while  I  took  out  a  sheet  of  paper  and 
154 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

tried  to  write  to  him,  but  I  could  not  manage 
it.  I  made  several  beginnings  and  chewed  my 
pen  a  long  time,  while  my  shame  and  misery 
grew  until  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  I  put 
on  my  hat  and  went  out. 

Then,  having  made  so  many  mistakes  already 
and  lost  so  much  by  them  that  I  could  not 
endure  my  ovm  thouglits,  I  tried  to  make  mat- 
ters better  by  making  them  worse.  A  little  way 
down  the  street  was  a  barroom.  Its  windows 
were  brightly  liglited,  casting  a  warm  shining 
glow  out  into  the  foggy  twilight,  and  I  could 
hear  men  laughing  inside.  I  went  in,  threw  my 
shilling  on  the  bar  and  called  for  whisky.  It 
was  strong  raw  stuff  and  made  my  throat 
burn,  but  standing  there  by  the  bar  I  felt  a 
little  self-esteem  come  back  and  said  to  myself 
that  I  was  not  beaten  yet.  I  pushed  the  change 
back  to  the  bartender  and  asked  for  another 
glass  of  the  same. 

I  remember  telhng  some  one  loudly  who  I 
was  and  declaring  that  I  was  the  greatest  actor 
in  London.  Somebody  paid  for  more  drinks 
and  I  drank  again  and  told  very  witty  stories 
and  became  amazingly  clever  and  successful, 
laughing  loudly  and  boasting  of  my  dancing. 

155 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  did  dance,  and  there  was  great  applause,  and 
more  drinks  and  a  great  deal  of  noise,  and  I 
became  fast  friends  with  some  one  whom  I 
promised  to  give  a  fine  part  in  my  next  play 
and  we  drank  again.  In  a  word,  I  got  glori- 
ously drunk. 

I  woke  up  some  time  the  next  day  in  an  alley, 
feeling  very  ill  and  more  discouraged  and  de- 
pressed than  before.  When  I  slowly  realized 
what  had  happened  and  that  I  had  not  a  cent 
in  the  world,  nor  anything  else  but  the  rumpled, 
dirty  clothes  I  wore,  I  sat  with  my  head  in  my 
hands  and  groaned  and  loathed  the  thought  of 
living.  I  did  not  want  ever  to  stir  again,  but 
after  a  while  I  got  up  dizzily  and  managed  to 
come  out  into  the  street.  I  knew  I  must  do 
something. 

I  was  in  the  North  End  of  London.  The 
dingy  warehouses  and  dirty  cobbled  streets, 
through  which  the  heavy  vans  rumbled,  drawn 
by  big,  clumsy-footed  horses,  reminded  me  of 
the  days  in  Covent  Garden  market,  and  I 
thought  of  the  way  I  had  lived  there  and  won- 
dered if  I  could  find  something  to  do  there  now. 
The  thought  of  the  Strand,  where  I  had  walked 
so  many  weeks,  was  hideous  to  me.    I  hated  it. 

156 


"Oil  ^o  oil  !" 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  said  to  myself  then  that  I  would  never  be  an 
actor  agam. 

I  found  a  watering  trough  and  washed  in  it, 
splashing  the  cold  water  over  my  head  until 
I  felt  refreshed.  I  determined  not  to  go  back 
to  my  lodgings,  the  few  things  I  had  left  there 
would  settle  the  small  score  and  I  did  not  want 
to  face  the  landlady.  The  thought  of  my 
mother  was  more  than  I  could  face,  too,  but  I 
said  to  mj^seif  that  JNIrs.  Dobbs  would  keep 
her  until  I  could  get  some  work  and  send  her 
the  rent.    Then  I  set  out  to  hunt  for  a  job. 

I  found  one  that  afternoon.  It  was  hard 
work,  rolling  heavy  casks  from  one  end  of  a 
warehouse  to  the  other  and  helping  to  load 
them  on  vans.  I  was  about  fifteen  at  the  time 
and  slight,  but  some  way  I  managed  to  do  the 
work,  though  aching  in  every  muscle  long  be- 
fore the  day  was  over.  I  got  ten  shillings  a 
week  and  permission  to  sleep  in  the  vans  in  the 
court  behind  the  warehouse.  I  held  the  place 
almost  a  week  before  the  foreman  lost  patience 
with  me  and  found  some  one  else  to  take  my 
place. 

I  had  made  friends  with  several  of  the  men, 
and  one  of  them  got  me  a  place  as  driver  for 

157 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN^  STORY 

a  milk  company.  This  was  easier  work,  though 
I  had  to  be  at  it  soon  after  midnight,  driving 
through  the  cold  dark  morning,  the  horses 
almost  pulling  my  arms  from  the  sockets  with 
every  toss  of  their  heavy  heads,  and  delivering 
the  milk  in  dark  area-ways,  where  I  stumbled 
sleepily  on  the  steps.  I  had  money  enough 
now  to  pay  for  lodging  in  a  dirty  room  without 
a  window  in  a  cheap  lodging  house,  and  I 
breakfasted  and  lunched  on  buns  and  stolen 
milk.  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  visit  my 
mother,  but  I  sent  her  a  few  shillings  in  a  letter 
and  wrote  that  I  was  well  and  busy,  so  that  she 
need  not  worry. 

Then  one  morning  the  loss  of  the  stolen  milk 
was  discovered.  I  had  been  unusually  hungry 
and  drunk  too  much  of  it.  The  boss  swore  at 
me  furiously,  and  again  I  was  out  of  a  job.  I 
was  wandering  up  the  street  wondering  what 
I  could  do  next  when  I  saw  a  great  crowd  about 
the  door  of  a  glass  factory.  It  was  still  early, 
about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  but  hundreds 
of  men  and  boys  were  massed  there  waiting. 
I  pushed  m}''  way  into  the  crowd  and  asked 
what  had  happened. 

Most  of  the  boys  looked  at  me  sullenly  and 
158 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

would  not  answer,  but  one  of  them  showed  me 
an  advertisement.  It  read:  "Boy  wanted  to 
work  in  glass  factory.  Seven  shillings  a  week." 
jMy  heart  gave  a  leap,  I  might  be  the  lucky  one ! 
I  pushed  as  close  to  the  door  as  I  could  and 
waited.  At  seven  o'clock  the  door  opened  and 
the  crowd  began  to  sway  in  excitement,  each 
one  crying  out  eager  words  to  the  man  in  the 
doorway. 

I  climbed  nimbly  up  the  back  of  the  man  be- 
fore me,  and  gripping  his  neck  with  my  knees, 
called  vigorously,  "Here  I  am,  sirl"  My 
theatrical  training  had  taught  me  how  to  use 
my  voice,  the  man  heard  me  above  the  uproar 
and  looked  at  me. 

"I  want  an  experienced  boy  in  the  cooling 
room,"  he  said.    "Had  any  experience?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir!"  I  answered,  while  the  man  on 
whose  back  I  crouched  tried  to  pidl  me  down. 

"All  right,  come  in  and  I'll  try  you,"  the 
man  in  the  doorway  answered,  and  while  the 
others  fell  back,  disappointed,  I  crushed 
through  the  crowd  and  rushed  in. 

The  work  proved  to  be  carrying  bottles  from 
the  fin-nace  room  to  tlic  cooling  place.  I  went 
at  it  witli  a  will,  liurrying  from  the  terrifically 

159 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

heated  room  into  the  cold  air  with  the  heavy 
trays  and  back  again  as  fast  as  I  could.  No 
matter  how  fast  I  ran  there  were  always  more 
bottles  waiting  than  I  could  get  out  in  time  and 
the  half -naked  men,  sweltering  in  the  furnace 
heat,  swore  at  me  while  I  jumped  back  and 
forth.  At  noon,  too  exhausted  to  eat,  I  lay 
down  in  a  corner  to  rest,  but  before  my  aching 
muscles  had  stopped  throbbing  the  afternoon 
work  began  and  the  foreman  was  calling  to  me 
to  hurry. 

My  head  ached  with  a  queer  jumping  pain 
and  I  was  so  dizzy  that  I  dropped  a  tray  of 
bottles  and  blundered  into  the  edge  of  the  door 
more  than  once,  but  I  shut  my  teeth  tight  and 
kept  on.  I  did  not  mean  to  lose  that  job.  It 
meant  nearly  two  dollars  a  week. 

I  kept  at  it  till  late  that  afternoon,  dripping* 
Vv'ith  perspiration  while  my  teeth  chattered  and 
my  legs  grew  more  unsteady  with  every  trip. 
Then,  as  I  bent  before  a  furnace  to  pick  up  a 
tray  there  was  a  sudden  glare  of  light  and  heat, 
a  tremendous,  crashing  explosion.  Ever}i:hing 
swirled  into  flame  and  then  into  darkness. 

When  I  came  to  myself  again  I  was  in  an 
infirmary  bed,  just  a  mass  of  burning  pain 

160 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

wrapped  in  bandages,  and  I  heard  myself  say- 
ing vigorously,  while  some  tried  to  quiet  me, 
"I  am  the  greatest  actor  in  London.  I  tell  you 
I  am  the  greatest  actor  in  London." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

In  which  I  encounter  the  inexorable  rules  of  a  Lon- 
don hospital,  causing  much  consternation ;  fight  a 
battle  with  pride;  and  unexpectedly  enter  an  up- 
setting situation. 

I  DID  not  find  the  hospital  unpleasant,  for  I  had 
enough  to  eat  there,  and  although  my  burns 
were  painful,  it  was  a  delight  to  be  in  a  clean 
bed.  I  lay  there  three  weeks,  quite  contented, 
and  all  day  long,  and  when  I  could  not  sleep 
at  night,  I  thought  over  my  stage  experience 
and  the  mistakes  I  had  made  in  it  and  finally 
grew  able  to  laugh  at  myself.  It  is  the  only 
valuable  thing  I  have  ever  learned. 

Life  trips  people  up  and  makes  them  fall  on 
their  noses  at  every  step.  It  takes  the  very 
qualities  that  make  success  and  turns  them  into 
stumbling  blocks,  and  when  we  go  tumbling 
over  them  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  get  up  and 
laugh  at  ourselves.  If  I  had  not  been  a  pre- 
cocious, self-satisfied,  egotistic  boy,  able  to 
imagine  unreal  things  and  think  them  true,  I 
could  never  have  been  a  success  on  the  stage, 

162 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

and  if  I  had  been  none  of  those  things  I  would 
not  have  thrown  away  the  opportunity  Mrs. 
Kendall  gave  me  and  been  a  failure.  That  is 
an  Irish  bull,  but  life  must  have  its  little  joke, 
and  there  you  are. 

At  the  end  of  the  three  weeks  my  burns  were 
sufficiently  healed,  and  one  day  the  nurse  came 
and  told  me  that  I  could  leave  the  hospital. 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  ''but  how?  I  have  no 
clothes." 

"]My  goodness !"  she  said.  "I — but  you  can't 
stay  here,  you  know." 

"Will  you  lend  me  a  sheet?"  I  asked.  "I 
must  wear  something." 

"Oh,  no;  we  couldn't  do  that,"  she  replied, 
and  went  away,  dazed  by  the  problem.  I  lay 
there  grinning  to  myself  and  ate  my  supper 
with  good  appetite.  The  next  day  the  doctor 
came  and  looked  at  me  and  scratched  his  head 
and  said  testily  that  I  was  well  enough  to  go 
and  must  go ;  I  must  get  some  clothes. 

"How  can  I  get  clothes  unless  I  go  and  earn 
them,  and  how  can  I  earn  them  if  I  don't  have 
any?"  I  asked  him. 

"Isn't  there  any  way  to  get  this  lad  any 
clothes?"  he  said  to  the  nurse.    She  said  she  did 

103 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

not  know,  there  had  never  been  a  case  just  like 
it  before.  She  would  ask  the  superintendent. 
She  came  back  with  the  superintendent,  and  all 
three  of  them  looked  at  me.  The  superin- 
tendent said  firmly  that  I  must  go,  that  it  was 
against  the  rules  for  me  to  stay  any  longer.  I 
replied  firmly  that  I  would  not  go  into  the 
streets  of  London  without  any  clothes.  The 
superintendent  shut  her  lips  firmly  and  went 
away. 

There  was  a  great  sensation  in  the  hospital. 
^ly  own  garments  had  been  destroyed  in  the 
explosion.  The  rules  demanded  that  I  go,  but 
the  rules  provided  no  clothes  for  me;  I  would 
not  go  without  clothes,  and  no  one  could  feel 
my  position  unreasonable.  The  hospital  swayed 
under  the  strain  of  the  situation. 

The  next  afternoon  a  representative  of  the 
Society  for  the  Relief  of  the  Deserving  Poor 
called  to  see  me.  She  asked  a  dozen  questions, 
wrote  the  answers  in  a  book  and  went  away. 
Another  day  passed.  The  nurses  were  pale 
with  suspense.    No  clothes  arrived. 

!Wild  rumors  circulated  that  I  was  to  be 
wrapped  in  a  blanket  and  set  out  in  the  night, 
but  they  were  contradicted  by  the  fact  that  the 

164 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

rules  did  not  provide  for  the  loan  of  the  blanket. 
Friendly  patients  urged  me  to  be  firm,  kindly 
nurses  told  me  not  to  worry,  the  superintendent 
was  reported  baffled  by  the  rules  of  the  char- 
itable organizations,  which  did  not  provide  for 
clothing  patients  in  the  charity  hospitals. 

Some  natural  resentment  was  felt  against 
me  for  not  fitting  any  rules,  but  the  food  came 
regularly  and  I  ate  and  slept  comfortably.  On 
the  fourth  day,  when  it  was  felt  that  something 
desperate  must  be  done,  the  situation  suddenly 
cleared.    Sidney  arrived. 

The  representative  of  the  S.  R.  D.  P.  had 
called  at  my  mother's  address  in  the  course  of 
her  investigations  as  to  my  worthiness  and 
found  him  there.  He  was  playing  in  an  East 
End  theater  and  very  much  worried  about  mj^ 
disappearance.  On  hearing  of  my  plight  he 
had  hastened  to  the  rescue  and  cut  short  my 
life  of  ease  and  plenty  under  the  unwilling  shel- 
ter of  the  hospital  rules.  He  brought  me 
clothes,  and  I  departed,  to  the  disappointment 
of  the  other  patients  who  felt  it  an  anti-climax. 

Well  fed  and  rested,  and  with  the  stimulus 
of  Sidney's  encouragement,  I  started  again  my 
seardi  for  a  part.     ]VIuch  as  I  had  hated  the 

165 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

Strand  at  times,  it  was  like  coming  home  again 
to  be  tramping  up  and  down  the  agents'  stairs 
and  exchanging  boasts  with  the  other  actors 
while  I  waited  in  the  outer  offices.  Usually  I 
waited  long  hours,  only  to  he  sent  away  at  last 
with  the  office  boy's  curt  announcement  that 
the  agent  would  see  no  one,  and  when  some- 
times I  did  penetrate  into  the  inner  offices  I 
met  always  the  same,  "Nothing  in  sight. 
Things  are  very  quiet  just  now.  Drop  in 
again."  Then  I  came  out,  with  my  old  jaunty 
air  hiding  my  bitter  disappointment  and 
tramped  down  the  stairs  and  along  the  Strand 
and  up  to  another  office,  to  wait  again. 

JNIrs.  Dobbs,  my  mother's  landlady,  moved 
to  Sweetbay,  and  being  fond  of  my  mother  and 
her  sweet  gentle  ways,  had  consented  to  take 
her  there  for  a  moderate  rate.  Sidney  and  I 
lived  together  in  a  bed-sitting-room  in  Alfred 
Place  on  very  scant  fare  and  I  hated  to  face 
him  at  night. 

"Well,  any  news?"  he  always  asked,  pleas- 
antly enough,  but  I  dreaded  the  moment  and 
having  to  say,  "No,  not  yet."  It  hurt  my  pride 
terribly,  and  after  several  months  of  it  the 
misery  of  that  first  moment  of  meeting  Sidney 

166 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

drove  me  into  hurting  my  pride  even  more  in 
another  way. 

"Look  here,  what's  all  this  talk  about  play- 
ing lead  and  being  with  William  Gillette  worth 
to  you?"  an  agent  said  to  me  one  day.  "You'll 
take  anything  you  can  jolly  well  get,  no  matter 
what  it  is,  won't  you?  Well,  Dailey,  over  at 
the  Grand,  is  putting  out  a  comedy  next  week 
with  Casey's  Circus.  There's  fifteen  parts, 
none  of  'em  cast  yet.  Go  and  see  what  you 
can  do." 

I  came  out  of  his  office  in  an  agony  of  inde- 
cision, for  while  it  was  true  that  I  had  said  to 
myself  many  times  that  I  would  take  oxvy  P^rt 
I  could  get,  I  had  never  imagined  myself  act- 
ing in  Casey's  Circus.  All  the  pride  that  had 
survived  those  months  of  discouragement 
writhed  at  the  idea — I  who  had  been  a  hit  in  a 
West  End  theater  acting  a  low  vulgar  comedy 
in  dirty  fourth-rate  houses — why,  it  was  not 
so  good  a  chance  as  my  part  in  Rags  to  lliches! 
I  said  savagely  that  I  would  not  do  it.  Then 
I  thought  of  Sidney  and  bit  my  lips  and  hesi- 
tated. 

In  the  end,  burning  with  shame  and  resent- 
ment, I  went  to  see  Dailey.    At  least  a  himdi-cd 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

third-rate  actors  packed  the  stairs  to  his  office 
and  more  were  blocking  the  street  and  sitting 
on  the  curbs  before  his  door  opened.  I  was 
crushed  in  the  crowd  of  them,  smothered  by 
rank  perfume  and  the  close  thick  air  of  the 
dirty  stairs,  and  I  hated  myself  and  the  situa- 
tion more  every  minute  of  the  three  hours  I 
waited  there,  but  I  stayed,  half  hoping  he 
would  not  give  me  a  part.  At  least  I  could 
feel  then  that  I  had  done  all  I  could. 

At  last  my  turn  came.  I  straightened  my 
hat,  squared  my  shoulders  and  marched  in, 
determined  to  be  very  haughty  and  dignified. 
Mr.  Dailey,  a  fat  red-faced  man,  with  his 
waistcoat  unbuttoned,  sat  by  a  desk  chewing 
a  big  cigar. 

"Mr.  Dailey,"  I  said,  "I "  I  don't  know 

how  it  happened.  My  foot  slipped.  I  tried 
to  straighten  up,  slipped  again,  fell  on  all  fours 
over  a  chair,  which  fell  over  on  me,  and  sat  up 
on  the  floor  with  the  chair  in  my  lap. 
" want  a  part,"  I  finished,  furious. 

Mr.  Dailey  howled  and  laughed  and  choked, 
and  held  his  sides  and  laughed  again  and 
choked,  purple  in  the  face. 

"You'll  do,"  he  said  at  last.  "Great 
168 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORYl 

entrance  I  Great!  Ten  shillings  a  week  and 
railway  fares;  what  do  you  say  to  that,  my 
lad?" 

"I  won't  take  it,"  I  retorted. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

In  which  I  attempt  to  be  serious  and  am  funny  in- 
stead; seize  the  opportunity  to  get  a  raise  in 
pay  ;  and  again  consider  coming  to  America. 

Mr.  Dailey  would  not  let  me  go,  but,  still 
wiping  tears  of  laughter  from  his  eyes,  began 
shilling  by  shilling  to  raise  his  oifer.  ]My  en- 
tirely unintentional  comedy  entrance  had 
pleased  him  mightily,  and  indeed,  as  soon  as  I 
saw  he  took  it  as  a  deliberate  effort  on  mj''  part, 
I  began  to  be  not  a  little  proud  of  it  myself.  It 
was  not  every  one,  I  said  to  myself,  who  could 
fall  over  a  chair  so  comically  as  that! 

Cheered  and  emboldened  by  this  reflection, 
I  drove  a  shrewd  bargain,  and  at  last,  per- 
suaded by  the  oifer  of  a  pound  a  week  and  a 
long  engagement  if  I  could  keep  on  being 
funny,  I  consented  to  become  a  member  of 
Casey's  Circus,  and  returned  whistling  to  our 
lodgings,  able  to  face  Sidney  A\dth  some  degree 
of  pride  because  I  had  an  engagement  at  last. 

170 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

We  began  rehearsals  next  day  in  a  very 
dirty  dark  room  over  a  public  house — fifteen 
ragged,  hungry-looking,  sallow-faced  boys 
desperately  being  funny  under  the  direction  of 
a  fat  greasy-looking  manager  who  smelled 
strongly  of  ale.  It  was  difficult  work  for  me  at 
first.  Being  funny  is  at  best  a  hard  job,  and 
being  funny  in  those  conditions,  which  I  heart- 
ily detested,  seemed  at  first  almost  impossible. 
INIore  than  once,  when  the  manager  swore  at 
me  more  than  usual,  I  felt  like  throwing  the 
whole  thing  up  and  would  have  done  so  but  for 
the  dread  of  going  back  to  the  endless  tramp- 
ing up  and  down  the  Strand  and  being  a  bur- 
den on  Sidney. 

Casejfs  Circus  was  putting  on  that  season  a 
burlesque  of  persons  in  the  public  eye,  and  I 
was  cast  for  the  part  of  Doctor  Body,  a  patent- 
medicine  faker,  M-ho  was  drawing  big  crowds 
on  the  London  street  corners  and  selling  a 
specific  for  all  the  ills  of  man  and  beast  at  a 
shilling  the  bottle.  Watching  him  one  after- 
noon, I  was  seized  with  a  great  idea.  I  would 
let  the  manager  reliearse  me  all  he  jolly  well 
liked,  but  wlien  tlie  opening  night  came  I 
would  play  Doctor  Body  as  he  really  was — I 

171 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STOKY 

would  put  on  such  a  marvelous  character  de- 
lineation that  even  the  lowest  music-hall 
audience  would  recognize  it  as  great  acting  and 
I  would  be  rescued  by  some  good  manager  and 
brought  back  to  a  West  End  theater. 

The  idea  grew  upon  me.  Despising  with  all 
my  heart  the  cheap,  clap-trap  burlesque  which 
the  manager  tried  to  drill  into  me,  I  paid  only 
enough  attention  to  it  to  get  through  rehearsals 
somehow,  hurrying  out  afterward  to  watch 
Doctor  Body  and  to  practise  before  the  mirror 
in  our  lodgings  my  own  idea  of  the  part.  I 
felt  that  I  did  it  well  and  thrilled  with  pride  at 
the  thought  of  playing  it  soon  with  the  eye  of 
a  great  manager  upon  me. 

The  night  of  the  opening  came  and  I  hurried 
to  the  dirty  makeshift  dressing-room  in  a 
cheap  East  End  music-hall  with  all  the  sensa- 
tions of  a  boy  committing  his  first  burglary.  I 
must  manage  to  make  up  as  the  real  Doctor 
Body  and  to  get  on  the  stage  before  I  was 
caught.  Once  on  the  stage,  without  the  bur- 
lesque make-up  which  I  was  supposed  to  wear, 
I  knew  I  could  make  the  part  go.  I  painted 
my  face  stealthily  among  the  uproar  and 
quarrels  of  the  other  fourteen  boys,  who  were 

172 


m 


'C'aii   \()U   licat  it?" 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

all  in  the  same  dressing-room  fighting  over  the 
mirrors  and  hurling  epithets  and  make-up 
boxes  at  one  another. 

The  air  tingled  with  excitement.  The  dis- 
tracted manager,  thrusting  his  head  in  at  the 
door,  cried  with  oaths  that  Casey  himself  was 
in  front  and  he'd  stand  for  no  nonsense.  We 
could  hear  him  rushing  away,  swearing  at  the 
scene  shifters,  who  had  made  some  error  in 
placing  the  set.  The  audience  was  in  bad 
humor;  we  could  faintly  hear  it  hooting  and 
whistling.  It  had  thrown  rotten  fruit  at  the 
act  preceding  ours.  In  the  confusion  I  man- 
aged to  make  up  and  to  get  into  my  clothes, 
troubled  by  the  size  of  the  high  hat  I  was  to 
wear,  which  came  down  over  my  ears.  I  stuffed 
it  with  paper  to  keep  it  at  the  proper  angle  on 
my  head,  and  trembling  with  nervousness,  but 
sure  of  myself  when  I  should  get  on  the  stage, 
I  stole  out  of  the  dressing-room  and  stationed 
myself  in  the  darkest  part  of  the  wings. 

The  boy  who  appeared  first  was  having  a 
bad  time  of  it,  missing  his  cues  and  being 
hissed  and  hooted  by  the  audience.  The  man- 
ager rushed  up  to  me,  cauglit  sight  of  my 
make-up  and  stopped  aghast. 

173 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

"  'Ere,  you  can't  go  on  like  that!"  he  said  in 
a  furious  whisper,  catching  my  arm. 

*'Let  me  alone;  I  know  what  I'm  doing!"  I 
cried  angrily,  wrenching  myself  from  him.  My 
great  plan  was  not  to  be  spoiled  now  at  the  last 
minute.  The  manager  reached  for  me  again, 
purple  with  wrath,  but,  quick  as  an  eel,  I 
ducked  under  his  arm,  seized  the  cane  I  was  to 
carry  and  rushed  on  to  the  stage  half  a  minute 
too  soon. 

Once  in  the  glare  of  the  footlights  I  dropped 
into  the  part,  determined  to  play  it,  play  it 
well,  and  hold  the  audience.  The  other  boy, 
whose  part  I  had  spoiled,  confused  by  my  un- 
expected appearance,  stammered  in  his  lines 
and  fell  back.  I  advanced  slowly,  impressively, 
feeling  the  gaze  of  the  crowd,  and,  with  a  care- 
fully studied  gesture,  hung  my  cane — I  held 
it  by  the  wrong  end  I  Instead  of  hanging  on 
my  arm,  as  I  expected,  it  clattered  on  the  stage. 
Startled,  I  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  and  my  high 
silk  hat  fell  from  my  head.  I  grasped  it,  put 
it  on  quickly,  and,  paper  wadding  falling  out, 
I  found  my  whole  head  buried  in  its  black 
depths. 

A  great  burst  of  laughter  came  from  the 
174 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

audience.  "WHien,  pushing  the  hat  back,  I  went 
desperately  on  with  my  serious  lines,  the  crowd 
roared,  held  its  sides,  shrieked  with  mirth  till  it 
gasped.  The  more  serious  I  was,  the  funnier 
it  struck  the  audience.  I  came  off  at  last,  pur- 
sued by  howls  of  laughter  and  wild  applause, 
which  called  me  back  again.  I  had  made  the 
hit  of  the  evening. 

"That  was  a  good  bit  of  business,  my  lad," 
Mr.  Casey  himself  said,  coming  behind  the 
scenes  and  meeting  me  in  the  wings  when 
finally  the  audience  let  me  leave  the  stage  the 
second  time.    "Your  idea?" 

"Oh,  certainly,"  I  replied  airily.  "Not  bad, 
I  flatter  myself — er — but  of  course  not  what  I 
might  do  at  that."  And,  seizing  the  auspicious 
moment,  I  demanded  a  raise  to  two  pounds  a 
week  and  got  it. 

The  next  week  I  was  headlined  as  "Charles 
Chaplin,  the  funniest  actor  in  London,"  and 
Casey's  Circus  packed  the  house  wherever  it 
was  played.  I  had  stumbled  on  the  secret  of 
being  funny — unexpectedly.  An  idea,  going 
in  one  direction,  meets  an  opposite  idea  sud- 
denly. "Ha!  Ha!"  you  shriek.  It  works 
every  time. 

175 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  walk  on  to  the  stage,  serious,  dignified, 
solemn,  pause  before  an  easy  chair,  spread  m}' 
coat-tails  with  an  elegant  gesture — and  sit  on 
the  cat.  Nothing  funny  about  it,  really,  espe- 
cially if  you  consider  the  feelings  of  the  cat. 
But  you  laugh.  You  laugh  because  it  is  un- 
expected. Those  little  nervous  shocks  make 
you  laugh;  you  can't  help  it.  Peeling  onions 
makes  you  weep,  and  seeing  a  fat  man  carrying 
a  custard  pie  slip  and  sit  down  on  it  makes  you 
laugh. 

In  the  two  years  I  was  with  Casey's  Circus 
I  gradually  gave  up  my  idea  of  playing  great 
parts  on  the  dramatic  stage.  I  grew  to  like 
the  comedy  work,  to  enjoy  hearing  the  bursts 
of  laughter  from  the  audience,  and  getting  the 
crowd  in  good  humor  and  keeping  it  so  was 
a  nightly  frolic  for  me.  Then,  too,  by  degrees 
all  my  old  self-confidence  and  pride  came  back, 
with  the  difference,  indeed,  that  I  did  not  take 
them  too  seriously,  as  before,  but  merely  felt 
them  like  a  pleasant  inner  warmth  as  I  walked 
on  the  Strand  and  saw  the  envious  looks  of 
other  actors  not  so  fortunate. 

One  day,  walking  there  in  this  glow  of  suc- 
cess, swinging  my  cane  with  a  nonchalant  air 

17:6 


CHAKLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

and  humming  to  myself,  I  met  the  old  come- 
dian who  had  been  with  the  Bags  to  Riches 
company. 

"I  say,  old  top,"  he  said  eagerly,  falling  into 
step  with  me,  "do  a  chap  a  favor,  won't  you 
now?  There's  a  big  chance  with  Carno — I 
have  it  on  the  quiet  he's  planning  to  take  a 
company  to  America,  and  half  a  dozen  parts 
not  cast.  Good  pickings,  what?  I  can't  get  a 
word  with  the  beggar,  but  he'd  listen  to  you. 
See  what  you  can  do  for  yourself  and  then  say 
a  good  word  for  me,  won't  you,  what?" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

In  which  I  startle  a  promoter;  dream  a  great  tri- 
umph in  the  land  of  skyscrapers  and  buffalo ;  and 
wait  long  for  a  message. 

America  !   Fred  Carno ! 

The  words  went  off  like  rockets  in  my  mind, 
bursting  into  thousands  of  sparkling  ideas. 
Fred  Carno,  the  biggest  comedy  producer  in 
London — a  man  who  could  by  a  word  make  me 
the  best-known  comedian  in  Europe !  I  could 
already  see  the  press  notices — "Charlie  Chap- 
lin, the  great  comedian,  in  the  spectacular 
Carno  production — ."  And  America,  that 
strange  country  across  the  sea,  where  I  had 
heard  men  thought  no  more  of  half-crowns 
than  we  thought  of  six-pences;  New  York, 
where  the  buildings  were  ten,  twenty,  even 
thirty  floors  high,  and  the  sky  blazed  with 
enormous  signs  in  electric  light;  Chicago, 
where  the  tinned  meat  came  from,  and,  be- 
tween, vast  plains  covered  with  buffalo  and 
wild  forests,  where,  as  the  train  plunged 
through  them  at  tremendous  speed,  I  might 

178 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

see  from  the  compartment  window  the  Amer- 
ican red  men  around  their  camp-fires!  The 
man  at  my  side  was  saying  that  there  was  a 
chance  to  go  to  America  with  Carno! 

"Go  see  him,  old  chap;  please  do,"  the  old 
comedian  begged  me.  "He'll  see  you,  quick 
enough,  though  he  keeps  me  waiting  in  his 
offices  like  a  dog.  And  say  a  good  word  for 
me;  just  get  me  a  chance  to  see  him.  I've  put 
you  on  to  a  good  thing,  what?  You  won't  for- 
get old  friends,  will  you  now?" 

"Er — certainly  not,  certainly  not!"  I  assured 
him  loftily.  "Now  I  think  of  it,  Freddie  was 
mentioning  to  me  the  other  day  something 
about  sending  a  company  to  America.  Next 
time  I  see  him — the  very  next  time,  on  my 
word — I'll  mention  your  name.  You  can  de- 
pend on  it." 

Then,  waving  away  his  fervid  thanks  and 
declining  kindly  his  suggestion  to  have  a  glass 
of  ])itters,  I  hailed  a  cab  and  drove  away,  eager 
to  be  alone  and  think  over  the  dazzling  pros- 
pect. My  own  small  success  seemed  flat  enougli 
beside  it.  America — Fred  Carno!  After  all, 
why  not?  I  asked  myself.  I  could  make  people 
laugh ;  Carno  did  not  have  a  man  who  could  do 

179 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

it  better.    Just  let  me  have  a  chance  to  show 
him  what  I  could  do ! 

So  excited  that  I  could  feel  the  blood  beat- 
ing in  my  temples  and  every  nerve  quivering, 
I  beat  on  the  cab  window  with  my  cane  and 
called  to  the  driver  to  take  me  to  Carno's  offices 
quick.  "An  extra  shilling  if  you  do  it  in  five 
minutes!"  I  cried,  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
seat  as  the  cab  lurched  and  swayed,  hoping 
only  that  I  could  get  there  before  all  the  parts 
were  gone. 

I  walked  into  Carno's  offices  with  a  quick 
assured  step,  hiding  my  excitement  under  an 
air  of  haughty  importance,  though  only  a  great 
effort  kept  my  hand  from  trembling  as  I  gave 
my  card  to  the  office  boy.  I  swallowed  hard 
and  called  to  mind  all  the  press  notices  I  had 
received  in  the  two  years  with  Casey's  Circus 
w^hile  I  waited,  trying  to  gain  an  assurance  I 
did  not  feel,  for  Carno  was  a  very  big  man,  in- 
deed. When  the  office  boy  returned  and 
ushered  me  into  the  inner  office  I  felt  my  knees 
unsteady  under  me. 

"Ah,  you  got  here  quickly,"  Mr.  Carno  said 
pleasantly,  waving  me  to  a  chair,  and  this  un- 
expected reception  completed  my  confusion. 

180 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

"Oh,  yes.  I  was — I  happened  to  be  going 
by,"  I  replied,  dazed. 

ISIr.  Carno  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  careful- 
ly fitting  his  finger  tips  together  and  looked  at 
me  keenly  with  his  lips  pursed  up.  I  said 
nothing  more,  being  doubtful  just  what  to  say, 
and  after  a  minute  he  sat  up  very  briskly  and 
spoke. 

"As  I  mentioned  in  my  note,"  he  began,  and 
the  office  seemed  to  explode  into  fireworks 
about  me.  He  had  sent  me  a  note.  He  wanted 
me,  then.  I  could  make  my  own  terms.  "And 
perhaps  I  could  use  you  for  next  season,"  he 
finished  whatever  he  had  said. 

"Yes,"  I  said  promptly.  "In  your  Ameri- 
can company." 

"My  American  company?  Well,  no.  That 
is  still  very  indefinite,"  he  replied.  "But  I  can 
give  you  a  good  part  with  Repairs  in  the 
provinces.    Thirty  weeks,  at  three  pounds." 

"No,  I  Vv'ould  not  consider  that,"  I  answered 
firmly.  "I  will  take  a  part  in  j^our  American 
company  at  six  pounds."  Sla^  pounds — it  was 
an  enormous  salary;  twice  as  much  as  I  had 
ever  received.  I  ^vas  a^Hiast  as  I  heard  Hie 
"words,  but  I  said  doggedly  to  myself  that  I 

181 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STOKY 

would  stand  by  them.  I  was  a  great  comedian ; 
Fred  Carno  himself  had  sent  for  me;  I  was 
worth  six  pounds. 

"Six  pounds  I  It's  unheard  of.  I  never  pay 
it,"  Mr.  Carno  said  sharply. 

"Six  pounds,  not  a  farthing  less,"  I  insisted. 

"In  that  case  I  am  afraid  I  can't  use  you. 
Good  morning,"  he  answered. 

"Good  morning,"  I  said,  and  rising  prompt- 
ly I  left  the  office. 

That  night  I  played  as  I  had  never  played 
l)efore.  The  audience  howled  with  laughter 
from  my  entrance  till  my  last  exit  and  recalled 
me  again  and  again,  until  I  would  only  how 
and  back  off.  I  carried  in  a  pocket  of  my  stage 
clothes  the  note  from  Mr.  Carno,  which  I  had 
found  waiting  at  the  theater,  and  I  Avinked  at 
myself  triumphantly  in  the  mirror  while  I  took 
off  my  make-up. 

"He'll  come  around.  Watch  me!"  I  said 
confidently,  and  not  even  Sidney's  misgivings 
nor  his  repeated  urgings  to  seize  the  chance 
with  Carno  at  any  salary  could  shake  my  de- 
termination. 

"I'm  going  to  America,'*  I  said  firmly. 
"And  I  won't  go  under  six  pounds.     Living 

182 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OAVN  STORY 

costs  terrifically  over  there;  all  the  lodgings 
have  built-in  baths  and  they  charge  double  for 
it.  I  stand  by  six  pounds  and  I'll  get  it,  never 
fear." 

In  my  own  heart  I  had  misgivings  more  than 
once  in  the  months  that  followed  without  an- 
other message  from  Carno,  but  I  set  my  teeth 
and  vowed  that,  since  I  had  said  six  pounds, 
six  pounds  it  should  be.  And  I  worked  at 
comedy  effects  all  day  long  in  oiu*  lodgings, 
falling  over  chairs  and  tripping  over  my  cane 
for  hours  together,  till  I  was  black  and  blue, 
but  prepared,  when  the  curtain  went  up  at 
night,  to  make  the  audience  hold  their  sides  and 
shriek  helplessly  with  tears  of  laughter  on 
their  cheeks. 

"Any  news?"  Sidney  began  to  ask  again 
every  evening,  but  I  managed  always  to  say, 
"Not  yet!"  with  cocky  assurance.  "He'll  send 
for  me,  never  fear,"  I  said,  warmed  with  the 
thought  of  the  applause  I  was  getting  and  the 
press  notices. 

The  season  with  Casey's  Circus  was  ending 
and  I  took  care  not  to  let  any  liint  of  my  inten- 
tion to  leave  reacli  tlie  cars  of  tlic  manager,  but 
I  refused  to  believe  that  I  would  be  obliged  to 

183 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

fall  back  on  him.    I  looked  eagerly  every  day 
for  another  note  from  Carno. 

"Don't  worrj'-,  I'll  see  you  get  your  bit 
when  the  time  is  ripe,"  I  told  the  old  comedian 
whenever  he  importuned  me  for  news,  as  he 
did  frequently.  "You  know  how  it  is,  old  top 
■ — you  have  to  manage  these  big  men  just 
right." 

At  last  the  note  came.  It  reached  me  at  my 
lodgings  early  one  morning,  having  been  sent 
on  from  the  theater,  and  I  trembled  with  ex- 
citement while  I  dressed.  I  forced  myself  to 
eat  breakfast  slowly  and  to  idle  about  a  bit 
before  starting  for  Carno's  offices,  not  to  reach 
them  too  early  and  appear  too  eager,  but  when 
at  last  I  set  out  the  cab  seemed  to  do  no  more 
than  crawl. 

"Well,  I  find  I  can  use  you  in  the  American 
company,"  ]Mr.  Carno  said. 

"Very  well,"  I  replied  nonchalantly. 

"And — er — as  to  salary — ,"  he  began,  but 
I  cut  in. 

"Salary?"  I  said,  shrugging  my  shoulders. 
"Why  mention  it  ?  We  v/ent  over  that  before," 
and  I  waved  my  hand  carelessly.  "Six 
[pounds,"  I  said  airily. 

184 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

He  looked  at  me  a  minute,  frowning.  Then 
he  laughed. 

"All  right,  confound  you  I"  he  said,  smiling, 
and  took  out  the  contract. 

Three  weeks  later,  booked  for  a  solid  year  in 
the  United  States,  looking  forward  to  playing 
on  the  Keith  circuit  among  the  Eastern  sky- 
scrapers and  on  the  Orpheum  circuit  in  the 
Wild  West  among  the  American  red  men,  I 
stood  on  the  deck  of  a  steamer  and  saw  the 
rugged  sky-line  of  New  York  rising  from  the 
sea. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

In  which  I  discover  many  strange  things  in  that 
strange  land,  America ;  visit  San  Francisco  for 
the  first  time ;  and  meet  an  astounding  reception  in 
the  offices  of  a  cinematograph  company. 

Now,  since  I  was  twenty  at  the  time,  four 
years  ago,  when  I  stood  on  the  deck  of  the 
steamer  and  saw  America  rising  into  view  on 
the  horizon,  it  may  seem  strange  to  some  per- 
sons that  I  had  no  truer  idea  of  this  country 
than  to  suppose  just  west  of  New  York  a  wild 
country  inhabited  by  American  Indians  and 
traversed  by  great  herds  of  buffalo.  It  is 
natural  enough,  however,  when  one  reflects  that 
I  had  spent  nearly  all  my  life  in  London,  which 
is,  like  all  great  cities,  a  most  narrow-minded 
and  provincial  place,  and  that  my  only  school- 
ing had  been  the  little  my  mother  was  able  to 
give  me,  combined  later  with  much  eager  read- 
ing of  romances.  Fenimore  Cooper,  your  own 
American  writer,  had  pictured  for  me  this 
country  as  it  was  a  hundred  years  ago,  and  what 

186 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

English  boy  would  suppose  a  whole  continent 
could  be  made  over  in  a  short  hundred  years? 

So,  while  the  steamer  docked,  I  stood  quiver- 
ing with  eagerness  to  be  off  into  the  wonders 
of  that  forest  of  skyscrapers  which  is  New 
York,  with  all  the  sensations  of  a  boy  trans- 
ported to  INIars,  or  any  other  unknown  world, 
where  anything  might  happen.  Indeed,  one 
of  the  strangest  things — to  my  way  of  think- 
ing— which  I  encountered  in  the  New  World, 
was  brought  to  my  attention  a  moment  after  I 
landed.  At  the  very  foot  of  the  gangplank 
^Ir.  Reeves,  the  manager  of  the  American  com- 
pany, who  was  with  me,  was  halted  by  a  very 
fat  little  man,  richly  dressed,  who  rushed  up 
and  grasped  him  enthusiastically  by  both 
hands. 

"Velgome!  Velgome  to  our  gountry!"  he 
cried.    "How  are  you,  Reeves?    How  goes  it?" 

]Mr.  Reeves  replied  in  a  friendly  manner,  and 
the  little  man  turned  to  me  inquiringly. 
"^Vlio's  the  kid?"  he  asked. 

"This  is  Mr.  Chaplin,  our  leading  comedian," 
Mr.  Reeves  said,  while  I  bristled  at  the  word 
"kid."  The  fat  man,  I  found,  was  Marcus 
Loew,  a  New  York  theatrical  producer.    He 

187 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

shook  hands  with  me  warmly  and  asked  imme- 
diately, "Veil,  and  vot  do  you  think  of  our 
gountry,  young  man?" 

"I  have  never  been  in  Berlin,"  I  said  stiffly. 
"I  have  never  cared  to  go  there,"  I  added 
rudely,  resenting  his  second  reference  to  my 
youth. 

"I  mean  America.  How  do  you  like  Amer- 
ica? This  is  our  gountry  now.  We're  all 
Americans  together  over  here !"  Marcus  Loew 
said  with  real  enthusiasm  in  his  voice,  and  I 
drew  myself  up  in  haughty  sui'prise.  "My 
word,  this  is  a  strange  country,"  I  said  to  my- 
self. Foreigners,  and  all  that,  calling  them- 
selves citizens !  This  is  going  rather  far,  even 
for  a  republic,  even  for  America,  where  any- 
thing might  happen. 

That  was  the  thing  which  most  impressed 
me  for  weeks.  Germans,  it  seemed,  and  Eng- 
lish and  Irish  and  Erench  and  Italians  and 
Poles,  all  mixed  up  together,  all  one  nation — ■ 
it  seemed  incredible  to  me,  like  something 
against  all  the  laws  of  nature.  I  went  about 
in  a  continual  wonder  at  it.  Not  even  the  high 
buildings,  higher  even  than  I  had  imagined, 
nor  the  enormous,  flaming  electric  signs   on 

188 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

Broadway,  nor  the  high,  hysterical,  shrill  sound 
of  the  street  traffic,  so  different  from  the  heavy 
roar  of  London,  was  so  strange  to  me  as  this 
mixing  of  races.  Indeed,  it  was  months  before 
I  could  become  accustomed  to  it,  and  months 
more  before  I  saw  how  good  it  is,  and  felt  glad 
to  be  part  of  such  a  nation  myself. 

We  were  playing  a  sketch  called  A  Night  in 
a  London  Music-Hall^,  which  probably  many 
people  still  remember.  I  was  cast  for  the  part 
of  a  drunken  man,  who  furnished  most  of  the 
comedy,  and  the  sketch  proved  to  be  a  great 
success,  so  that  I  played  that  one  part  contin- 
uously for  over  two  years,  traveling  from  coast 
to  coast  with  it  twice. 

The  number  of  American  cities  seemed  end- 
less to  me,  like  the  little  bores  the  Chinese  make, 
one  inside  the  other,  so  that  it  seems  no  matter 
how  many  you  take  out,  there  are  still  more 
inside.  I  had  imagined  this  country  a  broad 
wild  continent,  dotted  sparsely  with  great  cities 
— New  York,  Chicago,  San  Francisco — with 
wide  distances  between.  The  distances  were 
there,  as  I  expected,  but  tlicrc  seemed  no  end 
to  the  cities.  New  York,  Buffalo,  Pitts])!U*gIi, 
Cincinnati,  Columbus,  Indianapolis,  Cliicago, 

180 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

St.  Louis,  Kansas  City,  Omaha,  Denver — and 
San  Francisco  not  even  in  sight  yet!  No  In- 
dians, either. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  summer  we  reached 
San  Francisco  the  first  time,  very  late,  because 
the  train  had  lost  time  over  the  mountains,  so 
that  there  was  barely  time  for  us  to  reach  the 
Orpheum  and  make  up  in  time  for  the  first 
performance.  ]My  stage  hat  was  missing, 
there  was  a  wild  search  for  it,  while  we  held 
the  curtain  and  the  house  grew  a  little  impa- 
tient, but  we  could  not  find  it  anywhere.  At 
last  I  seized  a  high  silk  hat  from  the  outraged 
head  of  a  man  who  had  come  behind  the  scenes 
to  see  Reeves  and  rushed  on  to  the  stage.  The 
hat  was  too  loose.  Every  time  I  tried  to  speak 
a  line  it  fell  oif,  and  the  audience  went  into 
ecstasies.  It  was  one  of  the  best  hits  of  the 
season,  that  hat. 

It  slid  back  down  my  neck,  and  the  audience 
laughed ;  it  fell  over  my  nose,  and  they  howled ; 
I  picked  it  up  on  the  end  of  my  cane,  looked  at 
it  stupidly  and  tried  to  put  the  cane  on  my 
head,  and  they  roared.  I  do  not  know  the  feel- 
ings of  its  owner,  who  for  a  time  stood  glaring 
at  me  from  the  wings,  for  when  at  last,  after 

190 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

the  third  curtain  call,  I  came  off  holding  the 
much  dilapidated  hat  in  my  hands,  he  had  gone. 
Bareheaded,  I  suppose,  and  probably  still  very 
angry. 

After  the  show  I  came  out  on  the  street  into 
a  cold  gray  fog,  which  blurred  the  lights  and 
muffled  the  sound  of  my  steps  on  the  damp 
pavement,  and,  drawing  great  breaths  of  it 
into  my  lungs,  I  was  happy.  "For  the  lova 
Mike!"  I  said  to  Reeves,  being  very  proud  of 
my  American  slang.  "This  is  a  little  bit  of 
all  right,  what?  Just  like  home,  don't  you 
know!  What  do  you  know  about  that!"  And 
I  felt  that,  next  to  London,  I  liked  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  was  sorry  we  were  to  stay  only  two 
weeks. 

We  returned  to  New  York,  playing  return 
dates  on  the  "big  time"  circuits,  and  I  almost 
regretted  the  close  of  the  season  and  the  re- 
turn to  London.  The  night  we  closed  at 
Keith's  I  found  a  message  waiting  for  me  at 
the  theater. 

"We  want  you  in  the  pictures.  Come  and 
see  me  and  talk  it  over.    Mack  Sennett." 

"AVho's  [Mack  Sennett?"  I  asked  Reeves, 
101 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWX  STORY 

and  he  told  me  he  was  with  the  Keystone  mo- 
tion-picture company.  "Oh,  the  cinemato- 
graphs!" I  said,  for  I  knew  them  in  London, 
and  regarded  them  as  even  lower  than  the  mu- 
sic-halls.   I  tore  up  the  note  and  threw  it  away. 

"I  suppose  we're  going  home  next  week?" 
I  asked  Reeves,  and  he  said  he  thought  not; 
the  "little  big  time"  circuits  wanted  us  and  he 
was  waiting  for  a  cable  from  Carno. 

Early  next  day  I  called  at  his  apartments, 
eager  to  learn  what  he  had  heard,  for  I  wanted 
very  much  to  stay  in  America  another  year, 
and  saw  no  way  to  do  it  if  Carno  recalled  the 
company.  I  did  not  think  again  of  the  note 
from  Sennett,  for  I  did  not  regard  seriously 
an  offer  to  go  into  the  cinematographs.  I 
was  delighted  to  hear  that  we  were  going  to 
stay,  and  left  Xew  York  in  great  spirits,  with 
the  prospect  of  another  year  with  A  Night  in 
a  Londoti  Muslc-Hcdl  in  America. 

Twelve  months  later,  back  in  New  York 
again,  I  received  another  message  from  oMr. 
Sennett,  to  which  I  paid  no  more  attention 
than  to  the  first  one.  We  were  sailing  for 
London  the  following  month.  One  day,  while 
I  was  walking  down  Broadway  with  a  chance 

192 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

acquaintance,  we  passed  the  Keystone  offices 
and  my  companion  asked  me  to  come  in  with 
him.  He  had  some  business  with  a  man  there. 
I  went  in,  and  was  waiting  in  the  outer  office 
when  ^Ir.  Sennett  came  through  and  recog- 
nized me. 

"Good  morning,  JNIr.  Chaplin,  glad  to  see 
you!  Come  right  in,"  he  said  cordially,  and, 
ashamed  to  tell  him  I  had  not  come  in  reply 
to  his  message,  that  indeed  I  had  not  meant 
to  answer  it  at  all,  I  followed  him  into  his 
private  office.  I  talked  vaguely,  waiting  for 
an  opportunitj"  to  get  away  without  appearing 
rude.    At  last  I  saw  it. 

"Let's  not  beat  about  the  bush  anj^  longer," 
!Mr.  Sennett  said.  "AVhat  salary  will  you  take 
to  come  with  the  Keystone?"  This  was  my 
chance  to  end  the  interview,  and  I  grasped  it 
eagerly. 

"Two  hundred  dollars  a  week,"  I  said,  nam- 
ing the  most  extravagant  price  which  came  into 
my  head. 

"All  riglit,"  lie  replied  promptly.  "AVhen 
can  you  start?" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

In  which  I  find  that  the  incredible  has  happened; 
burn  my  bridges  behind  me  and  penetrate  for 
the  first  time  the  mysterious  regions  behind  the 
moving-picture  film. 

"But — I  said  two  hundred  dollars  a  week,"  I 
repeated  feebly,  stunned  by  ]Mr.  Sennett's  un- 
expected response.  Two  hundred  dollars  a 
week — forty  pounds — he  couldn't  mean  it!  It 
was  absolutely  impossible. 

"Yes.  That's  right.  Two  hundred  dollars 
a  week,"  INIr.  Sennett  said  crisply.  "^Vhen  can 
you  begin  work?" 

"Why — you  know,  I  must  have  a  two-years' 
contract  at  that  salary,"  I  said,  feeling  my 
way  carefully,  for  I  still  could  not  credit  this 
as  a  genuine  offer. 

"All  right,  we'll  fix  it  up.  Two  years,  two 
hundred — "  he  made  a  little  memorandum  on 
a  desk  pad,  and  something  in  the  matter-of- 
fact  way  he  did  it  convinced  me  that  this  in- 
credible thing  had  actually  happened.  "Con- 
tract will  be  ready  this  afternoon,  say  at  four 

194 


Mack   Sciinctt 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

o'clock.     That  will  suit  you?    And  we'd  like 
you  to  start  for  California  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Certainly.  Oh,  of  course,"  I  said,  though 
still  more  confounded  by  this,  for  I  did  not 
see  the  connection  between  California  and  the 
cinematograx^h.  More  than  anything  else, 
however,  I  felt  that  I  needed  air  and  an  op- 
portunity to  consider  where  I  stood  anyway, 
and  what  I  was  going  to  do. 

I  walked  down  Broadway  in  a  daze.  An 
actor  for  a  cinematographic  company — my 
mind  shied  at  the  thought.  How  were  the  con- 
founded things  made,  anyhow?  Still,  two  hun- 
dred dollars  a  week — what  would  happen  if  I 
could  not  do  the  work?  I  tried  to  imagine 
what  it  would  be  like.  Acting  before  a  ma- 
chine— how  could  I  tell  whether  I  was  funny 
or  not?  The  machine  would  not  laugh.  Then 
suddenly  I  stopped  short  in  a  tangle  of  cross- 
street  traffic  and  cried  aloud,  "Look  here,  you 
could  have  got  twice  the  money!"  But  in- 
stantly that  thought  was  swept  away  again  by 
my  speculations  about  the  work  and  my  con- 
cern as  to  whetlier  or  not  I  could  do  it. 

At  four  o'clock  I  returned  to  tlic  Keystone 
offices,    in    a   mood    ])etween   exultation    and 

195 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

panic,  and  signed  the  contract,  beginning  with 
a  feeble  scratch  of  the  pen,  but  ending  in  a 
bold  black  scrawl.  It  was  done ;  I  was  a  mov- 
ing-picture actor,  and  heaven  only  knew  what 
would  happen  next! 

"Can  you  start  for  California  to-night?" 
!Mr.  Sennett  asked,  while  he  blotted  the  con- 
tract. 

*'I  can  start  any  time,"  I  said  a  little  uncer- 
jtainly.     "But  shouldn't  I  rehearse  first?" 

He  laughed.  "You  don't  rehearse  moving 
[pictures  in  advance.  You  do  that  as  they  are 
being  taken,"  he  replied.  "They'll  show  you 
all  that  at  the  studios.  You'll  soon  catch  on, 
and  you'll  photograph  all  right,  don't  worry." 

Still  with  some  misgivings,  but  becoming 
more  jubilant  every  moment,  I  hurried  away 
to  get  my  luggage  and  to  announce  to  Mr. 
Reeves  that  I  was  not  going  back  to  London 
with  Carno's  company.  He  began  to  urge  me 
to  change  my  mind,  to  wait  while  he  could 
cable  to  Carno  and  get  me  an  offer  from  him 
for  the  next  season,  but  I  triumphantly  pro- 
duced my  contract,  and  after  one  look  at  the 
figures  he  was  dumb. 

"Two  hundred  dollars — Holy  Moses  l"  he 
196 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

managed  to  ejaculate  after  a  moment,  and  I 
chuckled  at  the  thought  of  3Ir.  Carno's  face 
when  he  should  hear  the  news. 

"It's  not  so  bad,  for  a  beginning,"  I  said 
modestly,  trying  my  best  to  speak  as  though 
it  were  but  a  trifle,  but  unable  to  keep  the 
exultation  out  of  my  voice.  A  dozen  times,  in 
the  hurry  of  arranging  my  affairs  and  catching 
the  train,  I  stopped  to  look  at  the  contract 
again,  half  fearful  that  the  figures  might  have 
changed. 

]\Iy  high  spirits  lasted  until  I  was  settled  in 
the  Chicago  Limited,  pulling  out  of  New  York 
with  a  great  noise  of  whistles  and  bells,  and 
steaming  away  into  the  darkness  toward  Cali- 
fornia and  the  unknown  work  of  a  moving-pic- 
ture actor.  Then  misgivings  came  upon  me  in 
a  cloud.  I  saw  myself  trying  to  be  funny  be- 
fore the  cold  eye  of  a  machine,  unable  to  speak 
my  lines,  not  helped  by  any  applause,  failing 
miserably.  How  could  I  give  the  effect  of 
ripping  my  trousers  without  the  "r-r-r-r-r-rip!'* 
of  a  snare-drum?  When  I  slipped  and  fell  on 
my  head,  how  could  the  audience  get  the  point 
witliout  the  loud  hollow  "boom  I"  from  the  or- 
chestra? 

107 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

Every  added  mile  farther  from  London  in- 
creased my  doubts,  hard  as  I  tried  to  encourage 
myself  with  thoughts  of  my  past  successes. 
]Moving-picture  work  was  different,  and  if  I 
should  fail  in  California  I  would  be  a  long, 
long  way  from  home. 

I  reached  Los  Angeles  late  at  night,  very 
glad  that  I  w^ould  not  have  to  report  at  the 
Keystone  studios  until  morning.  I  tried  to 
oversleep  next  day,  but  it  was  impossible;  I 
,was  awake  long  before  dawn.  I  dressed  as 
slowly  as  possible,  wandered  about  the  streets 
as  long  as  I  could,  and  finally  ordered  an 
enormous  breakfast,  choosing  the  most  expen- 
sive cafe  I  could  find,  because  the  more  ex- 
pensive the  place  the  longer  one  must  wait  to 
be  served,  and  I  was  seizing  every  pretext  for 
delay.  When  the  food  came  I  could  not  eat 
it,  and  suddenly  I  said  to  myself  that  I  was 
behaving  like  a  child;  I  would  hurry  to  the 
studios  and  get  it  over.  I  rushed'  from  the 
cafe,  called  a  taxi  and  bribed  the  chauffeur 
to  break  the  speed  laws  and  get  me  there  quick. 

When  I  alighted  before  the  studio,  a  big 
new  building  of  bright  unpainted  wood,  I  took 
a  deep  breath,  gripped  my  cane  firmly,  walked 

198 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIX'S  OWX  STORY 

briskly  to  the  door — and  hurried  past  it.  I 
walked  a  block  or  so,  calling  mj^self  names, 
before  I  could  bring  myself  to  turn  and  come 
back.  At  last,  with  the  feeling  that  I  was 
dragging  myself  by  the  collar,  I  managed  to 
get  up  the  steps  and  push  open  the  door. 

I  was  welcomed  with  a  cordiality  that  re- 
stored a  little  of  my  self-confidence.  The  di- 
rector of  the  company  in  Avhich  I  was  to  star 
had  been  informed  of  my  arrival  by  telegraph 
and  was  waiting  for  me  on  the  stage,  they 
said.  An  office  boy,  whistling  cheerfully,  vol- 
unteered to  take  me  to  him,  and,  leading  me 
through  the  busy  offices,  opened  the  stage  door. 

A  glare  of  light  and  heat  burst  upon  me. 
The  stage,  a  yellow  board  floor  covering  at 
least  two  blocks,  lay  in  a  blaze  of  sunlight, 
intensified  by  dozens  of  white  canvas  reflectors 
stretched  overhead.  On  it  was  a  wilderness  of 
"sets" — drawing-rooms,  prison  interiors,  laun- 
dries, balconies,  staircases,  caves,  fire-escapes, 
kitchens,  cellars.  Hundreds  of  actors  were 
strolling  about  in  costume;  carpenters  were 
hammering  away  at  new  sets;  five  companies 
were  playing  })eforc  five  clicking  cameras. 
There  was  a  roar  of  confused  sound — screams, 

199 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

laughs,  an  explosion,  shouted  commands, 
pounding,  whistling,  the  bark  of  a  dog.  The 
air  was  thick  with  the  smell  of  new  lumber  in 
the  sun,  flash-light  powder,  cigarette  smoke. 

The  director  was  standing  in  his  shirt-sleeves 
beside  a  clicking  camera,  holding  a  mass  of 
manuscript  in  his  hand  and  clenching  an  mi- 
lighted  cigar  between  his  teeth.  He  was  bark- 
ing short  commands  to  the  company  which  was 
playing— "To  the  left ;  to  the  left,  Jim !  There, 
hold  it!  Smile,  Maggie!  That's  right.  Good! 
Look  out  for  the  lamp!" 

The  scene  over,  he  welcomed  me  cordially 
enough,  but  hurriedly. 

"Glad  to  see  you.  How  soon  can  you  go 
to  work?  This  afternoon?  Good!  Two 
o'clock,  if  you  can  make  it.  Look  around  the 
studio  a  bit,  if  you  like.  Sorry  I  haven't  a 
minute  to  spare;  I'm  six  hundred  feet  short 
this  week,  and  they're  waiting  for  the  film. 
G'by.  Two  o'clock,  sharp!"  Then  he  turned 
away  and  cried,  "All  ready  for  the  next  scene. 
Basement  interior,"  and  was  hard  at  work 
again. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

In  which  I  see  a  near-tragedy  which  is  a  comedy  on 
the  films ;  meet  my  fellow  actors,  the  red  and  blue 
rats ;  and  prepare  to  fall  through  a  trap-door  with 
a  pie. 

The  little  self-confidence  I  had  been  able  to 
muster  failed  me  entirely  when  the  director  dis- 
missed me  so  crisply.  The  place  was  so  strange 
to  my  experience,  every  one  of  the  hundreds 
of  persons  about  me  was  so  absorbed  in  his 
work,  barely  glancing  at  me  as  I  passed,  that 
I  felt  helpless  and  out  of  place  there.  Still, 
the  studio  was  crowded  with  interesting  things 
to  see,  and  I  determined  to  remain  and  learn 
all  I  could  of  this  novel  business  of  producing 
cinema  film  before  my  own  turn  came  to  do 
it.  So  I  assumed  an  air  of  dignity,  marred 
somewhat  by  the  fact  that  my  collar  was  be- 
ginning to  wilt  and  my  nose  burning  red  in 
the  hot  sunlight,  and  strolled  down  the  stage 
behind  the  clicking  cameras. 

At  a  little  distance  I  saw  the  front  of  a  three- 
story  tenement,  built  of  brick,  with  windows 

201 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

and  fire-escape  all  complete,  looking  quite  nat- 
ural in  front,  but  supported  by  wooden  scaf- 
folding behind.  Near  it,  on  a  high  platform, 
was  a  big  camera,  and  a  man  with  a  shade  over 
his  eyes  busy  adjusting  it,  and  a  dozen  men 
were  stretching  a  net  such  as  acrobats  use.  A 
number  of  actors  were  hurrying  in  that  direc- 
tion, and  I  joined  them,  eager  to  see  what  was 
to  happen. 

"What's  all  the  row?"  I  asked  a  girl  in  the 
costume  of  a  nurse,  who  stood  eating  a  sand- 
wich, the  only  idle  person  in  sight. 

"Scene  in  a  new  comedy,"  she  answered 
pleasantly  but  indifferently. 

"Ah.,  yes.  That's  in  my  own  line,"  I  said 
important^.    "I  am  Charles  Chaplin." 

She  looked  at  me,  and  I  saw  that  she  had 
never  heard  of  me. 

"You're  a  comedian?"  she  inquired. 

"Yes,"  I  answered  sharply.  "Er — do  you 
go  on  in  this?" 

"Oh,  no.  I'm  not  an  actress,"  she  said,  sur- 
prised. "I'm  here  professionally."  I  did  not 
understand  what  she  meant.  "In  case  of  acci- 
dents," she- explained,  plainly  thinking  me  stu- 
pid.    "Sometimes  nothing  happens,  but  you 

202 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

never  can  tell.  Eight  men  were  pretty  badly 
hurt  in  the  explosion  in  the  comedy  they  put 
on  last  week,"  she  finished  brightly. 

I  felt  a  cold  sensation  creep  up  my  spine. 

In  the  "set"  before  us  there  was  a  great  bus- 
tle of  preparation.  A  long  light  ladder  was 
set  up  at  a  sharp  angle,  firmly  fastened  at  the 
bottom,  but  with  the  upper  end  unsupported, 
quivering  in  the  air. 

iSIen  were  running  about  shouting  directions 
and  questions.  Suddenly,  balancing  precari- 
ously on  the  narraw  platform  behind  the  cam- 
era operator,  the  director  appeared  and  clapped 
his  hands  sharply.  "All  ready  down  there?" 
he  called. 

"All  ready!"  some  one  yelled  in  reply. 

"Let  'er  go!" 

The  windows  in  tlie  brick  wall  burst  out- 
ward with  a  loud  explosion  and  swirling  clouds 
of  smoke.  L^p  the  swaying  ladder  ran  a  po- 
liceman and  at  tlie  same  instant,  caught  up 
by  invisible  wires,  anotlier  man  soared  through 
the  air  and  met  him.  On  tlie  top  rung  of  the 
ladder  they  balanced,  clutching  each  other. 

"Fight!  Fight!  Put  some  life  into  it!" 
yelled  the  director.    "Turn  on  the  water,  Jim !" 

203 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

My  eyes  straining  in  their  sockets,  I  saw 
the  two  men  in  the  air  slugging  each  other 
desperately,  while  the  ladder  bent  beneath 
them.  Then  from  the  ground  a  two-inch 
stream  of  water  rose  and  struck  them — held 
there,  playing  on  them  while  they  struggled. 

"Great!  Great!  Keep  it  up!"  the  director 
howled.  "More  smoke!"  Another  explosion 
answered  him;  through  the  eddying  smoke  I 
could  see  the  two  men  still  fighting,  while  the 
stream  from  the  hose  played  on  them. 

"Let  go  now.  Fall!  Fall!  I  tell  you,  fall !" 
the  director  shouted.  The  two  men  lurched, 
the  wires  gave  way,  and,  falling  backward, 
sheer,  from  a  height  of  twenty-five  feet,  the 
comedian  dropped  and  struck  the  net.  The  net 
broke. 

The  scene  broke  up  in  a  panic.  The  nurse 
ran  through  the  crowd,  a  stretcher  appeared, 
and  on  it  the  comedian  was  carried  past  me, 
followed  by  the  troubled  director  and  a  physi- 
cian. "Not  serious,  merely  shock;  he'll  be  all 
right  to-morrow,"  the  physician  was  saying, 
but  I  felt  my  knees  shaking  under  me. 

"So  this  is  the  life  of  a  cinema  comedian!" 
I  thought,  breathing  hard. 

204. 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  did  not  feel  hungry,  some  way,  and  besides, 
I  felt  that  if  I  left  the  studio  for  luncheon  I 
would  probably  be  unable  to  bring  myself  back 
again,  so  I  picked  out  the  coolest  place  I  could 
find  and  sat  down  to  await  two  o'clock.  I  was 
in  a  dim  damp  "basement  set,"  furnished  only 
with  an  overturned  box,  on  which  I  sat.  After 
a  time  a  strange  scratching  noise  attracted  my 
attention,  and  looking  down  I  saw  a  procession 
of  bright  red  and  blue  rats  coming  out  between 
my  feet.  I  leaped  from  the  box  with  my  hair 
on  end  and  left,  saying  nothing  to  any  one. 

At  two  o'clock,  quivering  with  nervousness, 
I  presented  myself  to  the  director.  He  was 
brisk  and  hurried  as  before  and  plunged  imme- 
diately into  a  description  of  the  part  I  was 
to  play,  pausing  only  to  mop  his  perspiring 
forehead  now  and  tlien.  The  heat  had  in- 
creased ;  under  the  reflectors  the  place  was  like 
a  furnace,  but  my  spine  was  still  cold  with  ap- 
prehension. 

*'Is  it  an  acrobatic  part?"  I  asked,  as  soon 
as  I  could  force  myself  to  inquire. 

"No,  not  this  one.  You're  a  hungiy  tramp 
in  the  country.  "We'll  take  the  interiors  here, 
and  for  the  rest  we'll  go  out  on  'location,'  "  tlie 

205 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWX  STORY 

director  answered,  ruffling  the  pages  of  the 
^'working  script"  of  the  play.  "We'll  do  the 
last  scene  first — basement  set.  Let's  run 
through  it  now;  then  you  can  make  up  and 
we'll  get  it  on  the  film  before  the  light's  gone." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  basement  set  and  be- 
gan to  instruct  me  how  to  play  the  part. 

"You  faU  in,  down  the  trap-door,"  he  said. 
*'Pick  yourself  up,  slowly,  and  register  sur- 
prise. Don't  look  at  the  camera,  of  course. 
You  have  a  pie  under  your  coat.  Take  it  out, 
begin  to  eat  it.  Register  extreme  hunger. 
Then  you  hear  a  noise,  start,  set  down  the  pie, 
and  peer  out  through  the  grating.  When  you 
turn  around  the  rats  will  be  eating  the  pie. 
Get  it?" 

I  said  I  did,  and  while  the  director  peered 
through  the  camera  lens  I  rehearsed  as  well  as 
I  could.  I  had  to  do  it  over  and  over,  because 
each  time  I  forgot  and  got  out  of  the  range 
of  the  camera  lens.  At  last,  however,  with  the 
aid  of  a  five-foot  circle  of  dots  on  the  floor,  I 
did  it  passably  well,  and  was  sent  to  make  up 
in  one  of  dozens  of  dressing-rooms,  built  in  a 
long  row  beside  the  stage.  IMj'-  costume,  sup- 
plied by  the  Keystone  wardrobe,  was  ready, 

206 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

and  I  was  reassured  by  the  sight  of  it  and  the 
make-up  box.  Here  at  last  was  something  I 
was  quite  famihar  with,  and  I  produced  a 
make-up  of  which  I  was  proud. 

AMien  I  returned  to  the  stage  the  camera 
operator  was  waiting,  and  a  small  crowd  of 
actors  and  carpenters  had  gathered  to  watch 
the  scene.  The  director  was  inspecting  the  col- 
ored rats  and  giving  orders  to  have  their  tails 
repainted — quick,  because  the  blamed  things 
had  licked  the  color  off  and  would  register  tail- 
less. A  stage  hand  was  standing  by  with  a 
large  pie  in  his  hand. 

"Ready,  Chaplin?"  the  director  called,  and 
then  he  looked  at  me. 

"Holy  INIoses,  where  did  you  get  that  make- 
up?" he  asked  in  astonishment,  and  every  one 
stared.  "That  won't  do;  that  won't  do  at  all. 
Look  at  your  skin,  man;  it  will  register  gray 
• — and  those  lines — you  can't  use  lines  like  that 
in  the  pictures.  Roberts,  go  show  him  how  to 
make  up." 

I  thought  of  my  first  appearance  in  Rags 
to  Riches,  and  felt  almost  as  humiliated  as  I 
had  then,  while  Roberts  went  with  me  to  the 
dressing-room  and  showed  me  how  to  coat  my 

207 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

face  and  neck  with  a  dull  brick-brown  paint, 
and  to  load  my  lashes  heavily  with  black.  The 
character  lines  I  had  drawn  with  such  care 
would  not  do  in  the  pictures,  I  learned,  because 
they  would  show  as  lines.  I  must  give  the 
character  effect  by  the  muscles  of  my  face. 

Feeling  very  strange  in  this  make-up,  I  went 
back  the  second  time  to  the  stage.  The  di- 
rector, satisfied  this  time,  gave  me  a  few  last 
directions  and  the  pie,  and  I  mounted  to  the 
top  of  the  set. 

"Remember,  don't  look  at  the  camera,  keep 
within  range,  throw  yourself  into  the  part  and 
say  anything  that  comes  into  your  head,"  the 
director  said.    "All  ready?    Go  to  it." 

The  camera  began  to  click;  I  clutched  the 
pic,  took  a  long  breath,  and  tumbled  through 
the  trap-door. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

In  •which,  much  against  my  will,  I  eat  three  cherry 
pies ;  see  m^'sclf  for  the  first  time  on  a  moving- 
picture  screen  and  discover  that  I  am  a  hopeless 
failure  on  the  films. 

"Register  surprise!  Register  surprise!"  the 
director  ordered  in  a  low  tense  voice,  while  I 
struggled  to  get  up  without  damaging  the  pie. 
I  turned  my  head  toward  the  clicking  camera, 
and  suddenly  it  seemed  like  a  great  eye  watch- 
ing me.  I  gazed  into  the  round  black  lens, 
and  it  seemed  to  swell  until  it  was  yards  across. 
I  tried  to  pull  my  face  into  an  expression  of 
surprise,  but  the  muscles  were  stiff  and  I  could 
only  stare  fascinated  at  the  lens.  The  clicking 
stopped. 

"Too  bad.  You  looked  at  the  camera.  Try 
it  again,"  said  the  director,  making  a  note  of 
the  number  of  feet  of  film  spoiled.  He  was 
a  very  patient  director;  lie  stopped  the  camera 
and  placed  the  pie  on  top  of  it  for  safety,  while 
I  fell  througli  tlie  trap-door  twice  and  twice 
played  the  scene  tlu'ough,  using  the  pie  tin. 

209 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

Then  the  pie  was  placed  under  my  coat  again, 
the  camera  began  to  click,  and  again  I  started 
the  scene.  But  the  clicking  drew  my  attention 
to  the  lens  in  spite  of  myself.  I  managed  to 
keep  from  looking  directly  at  it,  but  I  felt  that 
my  acting  was  stiff,  and  half-way  through  the 
scene  the  camera  stopped  again. 

"Out  of  range,"  said  the  camera  man  care- 
lessly, and  lighted  a  cigarette.  I  had  forgotten 
the  circle  of  dots  on  the  floor  and  crossed  them. 

I  had  eaten  a  large  piece  of  the  pie.  There 
was  a  halt  while  another  was  brought,  and  the 
director,  after  an  anxious  look  at  the  sun,  used 
the  interval  in  playing  the  scene  through  him- 
self, falling  through  the  trap-door,  registering 
surprise  and  apprehension  and  panic  at  the 
proper  points,  and  impressing  upon  me  the 
way  it  was  done.    Then  I  tried  it  again. 

All  that  afternoon  I  worked,  black  and  blue 
from  countless  falls  on  the  cement  floor,  per- 
spiring in  the  intense  heat,  and  eating  no  less 
than  three  large  pies.  They  were  cherry  pies, 
and  I  had  never  cared  much  for  them  at  any 
time.  ' 

When  the  light  failed  that  evening  the  di- 
rector, with  a  troubled  frown,  thoughtfully 

210 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

folded  the  working  script  and  dismissed  the 
camera  man.  JSIost  of  the  actors  in  the  other 
companies  had  gone;  the  wilderness  of  empty 
sets  looked  weird  in  the  shadows.  A  boy  ap- 
peared, caught  the  rats  by  their  tails,  and 
popped  them  back  into  their  box. 

"Well,  that's  all  for  to-day.  We'll  try  it 
again  to-morrow,"  the  director  said,  not  look- 
ing at  me.  "I  guess  you'll  get  the  hang  of  it 
all  right,  after  a  while." 

In  my  dressing-room  I  scrubbed  the  paint 
from  mj''  face  and  neck  with  vicious  rubs.  I 
knew  I  had  failed  miserably  and  my  self-es- 
teem smarted  at  the  thought.  Even  if  I  had 
succeeded,  I  said  bitterlj^  what  was  the  fun 
in  a  life  like  that?  No  excitement,  no  applause, 
just  hard  work  all  day  and  long  empty  eve- 
nings with  nothing  to  do. 

Only  two  considerations  prevented  me  from 
canceling  my  contract  and  quitting  at  once — 
I  was  getting  two  hundred  dollars  a  week,  and 
I  would  not  admit  to  myself  tliat  I — I,  who 
had  been  a  success  with  William  Gillette  and 
a  star  with  Carno — was  a  faihire  in  tlie  films 
Nevertheless,  I  was  in  a  black  mood  that  night, 
and  when  after  dinner  the  waiter,  bending  dcf- 

211 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

erentially  at  my  elbow,  insinuated  politely, 
"The  cherry  pie  is  very  good,  sir,"  he  fell  back 
aghast  at  the  language  I  used. 

Work  at  the  studio  began  at  eight  next 
morning,  and  I  arrived  very  tired  and  ill-tem- 
pered because  of  waking  so  early.  We  began 
immediately  on  the  same  scene,  and  after  I 
had  ruined  some  more  film  by  unexpectedly 
landing  on  a  rat  when  I  fell  through  the  trap- 
door, we  managed  to  get  it  done,  to  my  re- 
lief. However,  all  that  week,  and  the  next, 
my  troubles  increased. 

We  played  all  the  scenes  which  occurred  in 
one  set  before  we  went  on  to  the  next  set,  so 
we  were  obliged  to  take  the  scenes  at  hap- 
hazard through  the  play,  with  no  continuity  or 
apparent  connection.  The  interiors  were  all 
played  on  the  stage,  and  most  of  the  exteriors 
were  taken  "on  location,"  that  is,  somewhere  in 
the  country.  It  was  confusing,  after  being 
booted  through  a  door,  to  be  obliged  to  appear 
on  the  other  side  of  it  two  days  later,  with  the 
same  expression,  and  complete  the  tumble  be- 
gun fifteen  miles  away.  It  was  still  more  con- 
fusing to  play  the  scenes  in  reverse  order,  and 
I  ruined  three  hundred  feet  of  film  by  losing 

212 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

my  hat  at  the  end  of  a  scene,  when  the  succeed- 
ing one  had  already  been  played  with  my  hat 
on. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  week  the  comedy 
was  all  on  the  film  and  the  director  and  I  were 
being  polite  to  each  other  with  great  effort. 
I  was  angry  with  every  one  and  everything, 
my  nerves  worn  thin  with  the  early  hom's  and 
unaccustomed  work,  and  he  was  worried  be- 
cause I  had  made  him  a  week  late  in  producing 
the  film.  The  day  the  negative  was  done  ^lack 
Sennett  arrived  from  New  York,  and  I  met 
him  with  a  jauntiness  which  was  a  hollow 
mockery  of  my  real  feeling. 

"Well,  the}^  tell  me  the  film's  done,"  he  said 
heartily,  shaking  my  hand.  "Now  you're  go- 
ing to  see  yourself  as  others  see  you  for  the 
first  time.  Is  the  dark  room  ready?  Let's  go 
and  see  how  you  look  on  the  screen." 

The  director  led  tlie  way,  and  the  three  of 
us  entered  a  tiny  perfectly  dark  room.  I  could 
hear  my  heart  beating  while  we  waited,  and 
talked  nervously  to  cover  the  sound  of  it.  Then 
there  was  a  click,  the  shutter  opened,  and  the 
picture  sprang  out  on  the  screen.  It  was  the 
negative,  which  is  always  shown  before  the  real 

213 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STOKY 

film  is  made,  and  on  it  black  and  white  were 
reversed.  It  was  several  seconds  before  I  real- 
ized that  the  black-faced  man  in  white  clothes, 
walking  awkwardly  before  me,  was  myself. 
Then  I  stared  in  horror. 

Funny  ?  A  blind  man  couldn't  have  laughed 
at  it.  I  had  ironed  out  entirely  any  trace  of 
humor  in  the  scenario.  It  was  stiff,  wooden, 
stupid.  We  sat  there  in  silence,  seeing  the  pic- 
ture go  on,  seeing  it  become  more  awkward, 
more  constrained,  more  absurd  with  every 
flicker.  I  felt  as  though  the  whole  thing  were 
a  horrible  nightmare  of  shame  and  embarrass- 
mxcnt.  The  only  bearable  thing  in  the  world 
was  the  darkness ;  I  felt  I  could  never  come  out 
into  the  light  again,  knowing  I  was  the  same 
man  as  the  inane  ridiculous  creature  on  the  film. 
Half-way  through  the  picture  ]Mr.  Sennett 
took  pity  on  me  and  stopped  the  operator. 

"Well,  Chaplin,  you  didn't  seem  to  get  it 
that  time,"  he  said.  "What's  wrong,  do  you 
suppose?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  it's  plain  we  can't  release  this,"  the 
director  put  in  moodily.  "Two  thousand  feet 
of  film  spoiled." 

214 


*"^       '^^^t. 


;,.  i  ),■ 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

*'0h,  damn  your  film!"  I  burst  out  In  a  fury, 
and  rising"  with  a  spring  which  upset  my  chair 
I  slammed  open  the  door  and  stalked  out. 
*'Well,  here  is  where  I  quit  the  pictures,"  I 
thought. 

!Mr.  Sennett  and  the  director  overtook  me 
before  I  reached  my  dressing-room  and  we 
talked  it  over.  I  felt  that  I  would  never  make 
a  moving-picture  actor,  but  JNIr.  Sennett  was 
more  hopeful.  "You're  a  cracker  jack  come- 
dian," he  said.  "And  you'll  photograph  well. 
All  you  need  is  to  get  camera-wise.  We'll  try 
you  out  in  somethhig  else ;  I'll  direct  you,  and 
you  will  get  the  hang  of  the  work  all  right." 

The  director  brouglit  out  a  mass  of  scenarios 
wliich  had  been  passed  up  to  him  by  the  scena- 
rio department  and  Mr.  Sennett  picked  out  one 
and  ordered  the  working  script  of  it  made  Im- 
mediately. Next  day  we  set  to  work  together 
on  it ;  ^Ir.  Sennett  patient,  good-humored,  con- 
siderate, coaching  me  over  and  over  In  every 
gesture  and  expression;  I  with  a  hard  tense 
determination  to  make  a  success  this  time. 

We  worked  another  week  on  this  second 
play,  using  every  hour  of  good  daylight.  It 
was  not  entirely  finished  then,  but  enough  was 

215 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

done  to  give  an  idea  of  its  success,  and  again 
the  negative  was  sent  to  the  dark  room  for  re- 
view. 

I  went  to  see  it  with  the  sensations  of  dread 
and  shrinking  one  feels  at  sight  of  a  dentist's 
chair,  and  my  worst  fears  were  justified.  The 
film  was  worse  than  the  first  one — utterly  stu- 
pid and  humorless. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

In  which  I  introduce  an  innovation  in  motion-picture 
production ;  appropriate  an  amusing  mustache ; 
and  wager  eighty  dollars  on  three  hours*  work. 

"Well,  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  it?" 
Mr.  Sennett  asked,  when  the  flicker  of  the  sec- 
ond film  had  ceased  and  we  knew  it  a  worse 
failure  than  the  first.  "Looks  hopeless, 
doesn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  with  a  sinking  heart,  for  after 
all  I  had  had  a  flicker  of  hope  for  success  this 
time.  We  had  both  worked  hard,  and  now  we 
were  tired  and  discouraged.  I  went  alone  to 
my  dressing-room,  shut  the  door  and  sat  down 
to  think  it  over. 

The  trouble  with  the  films,  I  decided,  was 
lack  of  spontaneity.  I  was  stiff";  I  took  all 
the  surprise  out  of  the  scenes  by  anticipating 
the  next  motion.  When  I  walked  against  a 
tree,  I  showed  that  I  knew  I  would  hit  it,  long 
before  I  did.  I  was  so  determined  to  he  funny 
that  every  muscle  in  my  body  was  stiff*  and 
serious  with  the  strain.     And  then  that  con- 

217 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

founded  clicking  of  the  camera  and  the  effort 
it  took  to  keep  from  looking  at  it — and  the 
constant  fear  of  spoiling  a  foot  of  film. 

"So  you're  a  failure,"  I  said,  looking  at  my- 
self in  the  mirror.  "You're  a  failure ;  no  good; 
down  and  out.  You  can't  make  a  cinema  film. 
You're  beaten  by  a  click  and  an  inch  of  cellu- 
loid.   You  are  a  rotter,  no  mistake!" 

I  was  so  furious  at  that  that  I  smashed  the 
mirror  into  bits  with  my  fist.  I  walked  up  and 
down  the  dressing-room,  hating  myself  and  the 
camera  and  the  film  and  the  whole  detestable 
business.  I  thought  of  haughtily  stalking  out 
and  telling  INIr.  Sennett  I  w^as  through  with 
the  whole  thing ;  I  was  going  back  to  London, 
where  I  was  appreciated.  Then  I  knew  he 
would  be  glad  to  let  me  go;  he  would  say  to 
himself  that  I  w^as  no  good  in  the  pictures, 
and  I  would  always  know  it  was  true.  ]My 
vanity  ached  at  the  thought.  No  matter  how 
much  success  I  made,  no  matter  how  loud  the 
audience  applauded,  I  would  always  say  to 
myself,  "Very  well  for  you,  but  you  know  you 
failed  in  the  cinemas." 

With  a  furious  gesture  I  grabbed  my  hat 
and  went  out  to  find  ]Mr.  Sennett.     He  was 

218 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

on  the  stage  watching  the  work  of  another  com- 
pany. I  walked  up  to  him  in  a  sort  of  cold 
rage  and  said,  "See  here,  Mr.  Sennett,  I  can 
succeed  in  this  beastly  work.  I  know  I  can. 
You  let  me  have  a  chance  to  do  things  the  way 
I  want  to  and  I'll  show  you." 

"I  don't  know  what  I  can  do.  You've  had 
the  best  scenarios  we've  got,  and  we  haven't 
hurried  you,"  he  said  reasonably.  "You  know 
the  rest  of  the  companies  get  out  two  reels  a 
week,  and  we've  taken  three  weeks  to  do  what 
we've  done  with  you — about  a  reel  and  a  half." 

"Yes,  but  the  conditions  are  all  wrong,"  I 
hurried  on.  "Rehearsing  over  and  over,  and 
no  chance  to  vary  an  inch,  and  then  that  click- 
ing beginning  just  when  I  start  to  play.  And 
I  miss  a  cane.  I  have  to  have  a  cane  to  be 
funny." 

It  must  have  sounded  childish  enough.  Mr. 
Sennett  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"You  can  have  a  cane,  if  that's  what  you 
want.  Rut  I  don't  know  how  you  are  going 
to  make  pictures  without  rehearsing  and  with- 
out a  camera,"  he  said. 

"I  want  to  make  up  my  own  scenarios  as  I 
go  along.     I  just  \vant  to  go  out  on  the  stage 

219 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

and  be  funny,"  I  said.  "And  I  want  the  cam- 
era to  keep  going-  all  the  time,  so  I  can  forget 
about  it." 

"Oh,  see  here,  Chaplin,  you  can't  do  that. 
Do  you  know  what  film  costs?  Four  cents  a 
foot,  a  thousand  feet  of  film.  You'd  waste 
thousands  of  dollars'  worth  of  it  in  a  season. 
You  see  that  yourself.  Great  Scott,  man,  you 
can't  take  pictures  that  wayl" 

"You  give  me  a  chance  at  it,  and  I'll  show 
you  whether  I  can  or  not,"  I  replied.  "Let  me 
try  it,  just  for  a  day  or  so,  just  one  scene.  If 
the  film's  spoiled,  I'll  pay  for  it  myself.^' 

We  argued  it  out  for  a  long  time.  The  no- 
tion seemed  utterly  crazy  to  INIr.  Sennett,  but 
after  all  I  had  made  a  real  success  in  comedy, 
and  his  disappointment  must  have  been  great 
at  my  failure  on  the  films.  Finally  he  con- 
sented to  let  me  try  making  pictures  my  way, 
on  condition  that  I  should  pay  the  salary  of  the 
operator  and  the  cost  of  the  spoiled  film. 

That  night  I  walked  up  and  down  the  street 
for  hours,  planning  the  outlines  of  a  scenario 
and  the  make-up  I  would  wear.  ]My  cane,  of 
course,  and  the  loose  baggy  trousers  which  are 
always  funny  on  the  stage,  I  don't  know  why. 

220 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  debated  a  long  time  about  the  shoes.  My; 
feet  are  small,  and  I  thought  perhaps  they 
might  seem  fumiier  in  tight  shoes,  under  the 
baggy  trousers.  At  last,  however,  I  decided 
on  the  long,  flat,  floppy  shoes,  which  would 
trip  me  up  unexpectedly. 

These  details  determined  upon,  I  was  re- 
turning to  my  hotel  when  suddenly  I  discov- 
ered I  was  hungry,  and  remembered  that  I  had 
eaten  no  dinner.  I  dropped  into 'a  cafeteria 
for  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  there  I  saw  a  mustache. 
A  little  clipped  mustache,  worn  by  a  very  dig- 
nified solemn  gentleman  who  was  eating  soup. 
He  dipped  his  spoon  into  the  bowl  and  the  mus- 
tache quivered  appreliensively.  He  raised  the 
spoon  and  the  mustache  drew  back  in  alarm. 
He  put  the  soup  to  his  lips  and  the  mustache 
backed  up  against  Iiis  nose  and  clung  there. 

It  was  the  funniest  thing  I  had  ever  seen. 
I  choked  my  coffee,  gasped,  finally  laughed 
outright.    I  must  have  a  mustache  like  that! 

Next  day,  dressed  in  tlie  costume  I  had 
chosen,  I  glued  the  mustache  to  my  lip  before 
the  dressing-room  mirror,  and  shouted  at  tlie 
reflection.  It  was  funny;  it  was  uproariously 
funny!     It  waggled  when  I  laughed,  and  I 

221 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

laughed  again.  I  went  out  on  the  stage  still 
laughing,  and  followed  by  a  shout  of  mirth 
from  every  one  who  saw  me.  I  tripped  on  my 
cane,  fell  over  my  shoes,  got  the  camera  man 
to  shouting  with  mirth.  A  crowd  collected  to 
watch  me  work,  and  I  plunged  into  my  first 
scene  in  high  spirits. 

I  played  the  scene  over  and  over,  introduc- 
ing funnier  effects  each  time.  I  enjoyed  it 
thoroughly,  stopping  every  time  I  got  out  of 
the  range  of  the  camera  to  laugh  again.  The 
other  actors,  watching  behind  the  camera,  held 
their  sides  and  howled,  as  my  old  audiences  had 
done  when  I  was  with  Carno.  "This,"  I  said 
to  myself  triumphantly.  "This  is  going  to  be 
a  success!'* 

When  the  camera  finally  stopped  clicking 
all  my  old  self-confidence  and  pride  had  come 
back  to  me.  "Not  so  bad,  what?"  I  said,  tri- 
umphantly twirling  my  cane,  and  in  sheer  good 
spirits  I  pretended  to  fall  against  the  camera, 
wringing  a  shout  of  terror  from  the  operator. 
Then,  modestly  disclaiming  the  praises  of  the 
actors,  though  indeed  I  felt  they  were  less  than 
I  deserved,  I  went  whistling  to  my  dressing- 
room. 

222 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

"How  soon  do  you  want  to  see  the  film,  ]Mr. 
Chaplin?"  the  operator  asked,  tapping  at  my 
door  while  I  was  changing  into  street  clothes. 

"Just  as  soon  as  you  can  have  it,  old  top,'* 
I  replied  cheerfully.  "Oh,  by  the  way,  how 
many  feet  did  we  use?" 

"Little  over  two  thousand,"  he  called  back, 
and  I  heard  the  sound  of  his  retreating  feet. 

A  little  over  two  thousand!  At  four  cents 
a  foot!  Eighty  dollars!  I  felt  as  though  a 
little  cold  breeze  was  blowing  on  my  back. 
Nearly  a  month's  salary  with  Carno  wagered 
on  the  success  of  three  hours'  work!  After  all, 
I  thought,  I  was  not  sure  how  the  film  would 
turn  out;  the  beastly  machine  might  not  see 
the  humor  of  my  acting,  good  as  it  had  been. 
I  finished  dressing  in  a  hurry,  and  went  out 
to  find  ^Ir.  Sennett  and  show  him  the  film  in 
the  dark  room. 

I  sat  on  the  edge  of  my  chair  in  the  dark 
room,  waiting  for  the  picture  to  flash  on  the 
screen,  thinking  of  that  eighty  dollars,  which 
alternately  loomed  large  as  a  fortune  and  sank 
into  insignificance.  If  the  picture  was  good — • 
But  suppose  it,  too,  was  a  failure!  Then  I 
would  be  stranded  in  California,  thousands  of 

223 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

miles  from  home,  and  where  would  I  get  the 
eighty  dollars? 

The  shutter  clicked  open  and  the  negative 
began  to  flicker  on  the  screen.  I  saw  myself, 
black-faced,  with  a  little  white  mustache  and 
enormous  white  shoes,  walking  in  great  dignity 
across  the  patch  of  light.  I  saw  myself  trip 
over  my  shoes.  I  saw  the  mustache  quiver 
with  alarm.  I  saw  myself  stop,  look  wise, 
twirl  my  cane  knowingly,  and  hit  myself  on 
the  nose.  Then,  suddenly  in  the  stillness,  I 
heard  a  loud  chuckle  from  ]Mr.  Sennett.  The 
picture  was  good.    It  was  very  good. 

"Well,  Chaplin,  you've  done  it!  By  George, 
you've  certainly  got  the  comedy!  It's  a 
corker!"  Mr.  Sennett  said,  clapping  me  heartily 
on  the  back  as  we  came  out  of  the  dark  room. 
"You've  wasted  a  lot  of  film,  but  hang  the 
film!  You're  worth  it!  Go  on  and  finish  this 
up.    I'd  like  to  release  it  next  week." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

In  which  I  taste  success  in  the  movies ;  develop  a  new 
aim  in  life;  and  form  an  ambitious  project. 

"We'll  use  the  third  scene,"  Mr.  Sennett 
said  to  the  camera  operator.  "How  long  will 
it  run?" 

"About  two  hundred  feet,"  the  operator  re- 
plied. 

"Well,  keep  it  and  throw  away  the  rest. 
Think  you  can  finish  two  good  reels  this  week?" 
Mr.  Sennett  asked,  turning  to  me. 

"Watch  me!"  I  responded  airily,  and  my 
heart  gave  a  great  jump.  They  were  paying 
me  two  hundred  dollars  a  week  and  were  will- 
ing to  throw  away  thousands  of  feet  of  film  in 
addition  to  get  my  comedies.  "There's  a 
fortune  in  this  business!  A  fortune!"  I 
thought. 

INIy  ambition  soared  at  that  moment  to 
dazzling  heiglits.  I  saw  myself  retiring,  after 
five  or  ten  years  in  the  business,  with  a  fortune 
of  ten  thousand  pounds — yes,  even  twenty 
thousand ! 

225 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

The  comedy  was  finished  that  week;  I 
worked  every  day,  during  every  moment  when 
the  hght  was  good,  not  stopping  for  luncheon 
or  to  rest.  I  enjoyed  the  work;  the  even  click- 
cHck-click  of  the  camera,  running  steadily,  was 
a  stimulant  to  me;  my  ideas  came  thick  and 
fast.  I  sketched  in  my  mind  the  outlines  of  a 
dozen  comedies,  to  be  played  later.  I  remem- 
bered all  the  funny  things  I  had  seen  or  heard 
and  built  up  rough  scenarios  around  them.  I 
woke  in  the  night,  chuckling  at  a  new  idea  that 
occurred  to  me. 

When  my  first  comedy  was  released  it  was  a 
great  success.  The  producers  demanded  more, 
quicklj^  I  was  already  working  on  Caught  in 
the  Bain.  I  followed  it  the  next  week  with 
Laughing  Gas.    They  all  went  big. 

Every  morning  when  I  reached  the  stage  in 
make-up  the  actors  who  were  to  play  with  me 
stood  waiting  to  learn  what  their  parts  were  to 
be.  I  myself  did  not  always  know,  but  when  I 
had  limbered  up  a  bit  hy  a  jig  or  clog  dance 
and  the  camera  began  to  click,  ideas  came  fast 
enough. 

I  told  the  other  actors  how  to  play  their 
parts,  played  them  myself   to    show   how   it 

226 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

should  be  done;  played  my  own  part  enthusi- 
astically, teased  the  camera  man,  laughed  and 
whistled  and  turned  handsprings.  The  click- 
ing camera  took  it  all  in ;  later,  in  the  negative 
room,  we  chose  and  cut  and  threw  away  film, 
picking  out  the  best  scenes,  rearranging  the 
reels,  shaping  up  the  final  picture  to  be  shown 
on  the  screens.  I  liked  it  all ;  I  was  never  still 
a  minute  in  the  studio  and  never  tired. 

The  only  time  I  was  quiet  was  while  I  was 
making  up.  Then  I  thought  sometimes  of  my 
early  days  in  England,  of  Covent  Garden,  and 
my  mother  and  my  year  with  William  Gillette. 
"Life's  a  funny  thing,"  I  said  to  myself.  Then 
I  made  up  as  a  baker,  ordered  a  wagonload  of 
bread-dough  and  flour  and  went  out  and 
romped  through  It  hilarious,  shouting  with 
laughter  whenever  I  was  out  of  range  of  the 
camera.  The  result  was  Dough  and  Dyna- 
mite, and  it  clinched  what  I  then  thought  was 
my  success  in  the  movies. 

At  first  when  my  pictures  began  to  appear 
in  the  moving-picture  houses  I  took  great  de- 
light in  walking  among  the  crowds  in  front  of 
the  doors,  idly  twirling  my  cane  and  listening 
to  the  comments  on  my  comedies.    I  liked  to 

227 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

go  inside,  too,  and  hear  the  audiences  laugh  at 
the  comical  figure  I  cut  on  the  screen.  That 
was  the  way  I  got  my  first  real  ambition  in 
moving-picture  work.  I  still  have  it.  I  want 
to  make  people  chuckle. 

Audiences  laugh  in  two  ways.  Upon  the 
stage,  in  all  the  tense  effort  of  being  funny  be- 
hind the  footlights,  I  had  never  noticed  that. 
But  one  night,  packed  with  the  crowd  in  a 
small,  dark  moving-picture  house,  watching 
the  flickering  screen,  listening  for  the  response 
of  the  people  around  me,  I  suddenly  realized  it. 

I  had  wedged  into  a  crowded  house  to  see 
my  latest  film.  It  was  a  rough-and-tumble 
farce;  the  audience  had  been  holding  its  sides 
and  shrieking  hysterically  for  five  minutes. 
"Oh,  ho!"  I  was  saying  to  myself.  "You're 
getting  'em,  old  top,  you're  getting  'em!" 
Suddenly  the  laughter  stopped. 

I  looked  around  dismayed.  I  could  see  a 
hundred  faces,  white  in  the  dim  light,  intent  on 
the  picture — and  not  a  smile  on  any  of  them. 
I  looked  anxiously  at  the  screen.  There  was 
Charlie  Chaplin  in  his  make-up  standing  still. 
Standing  still  in  a  farce!  I  wondered  how  I 
had  ever  let  a  thing  like  that  get  past  the 

228 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

negative.  The  house  was  still;  I  could  hear 
the  click  of  the  um-olling  film. 

Then  on  the  screen  I  saw  myself  turn  slowly ; 
saw  my  expression  become  grim  and  resolute ; 
saw  myself  grip  my  cane  firmly  and  stalk 
away.  I  was  going  after  the  husky  laborer 
who  had  stolen  my  beer. 

Then  it  came — a  chuckle,  a  deep  hearty 
"Ha!  Ha!  Ha!"  It  spread  over  the  crowd 
like  a  wave ;  the  house  rocked  with  it. 

"That's  it!  That's  what  I  want,  that's  what 
I  want !"  I  said.  I  got  out  quickly  to  think  it 
over.  I  had  to  crowd  past  the  knees  of  a  dozen 
people  to  do  it,  and  not  one  of  them  glared  at 
me.    They  were  still  chuckling. 

I  walked  bac^:  to  my  hotel  with  my  cane 
tucked  under  my  arm  and  my  hands  in  my 
pockets.  That  was  the  thing — the  chuckle! 
Any  kind  of  laughter  is  good;  any  kind  of 
laughter  will  get  the  big  salaries.  But  a  good, 
deep,  hearty  chuckle  is  the  thing  that  warms  a 
man's  heart ;  it's  the  thing  tliat  makes  him  your 
friend ;  it's  the  thing  that  shows,  when  you  get 
it,  that  you  have  a  real  hold  on  your  audience. 
I  have  worked  for  it  ever  since. 

After  that  I  visited  tlie  j)icture  houses  night 
229 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

after  night,  watching  for  that  chuckle,  plan- 
ning ways  to  get  it.  I  was  never  recognized  by 
strangers,  and  more  than  once  some  one  asked 
me  vrhat  I  thought  of  Charlie  Chaplin.  I  do 
not  recall  that  I  ever  told  the  truth.  In  fact, 
I  was  not  thinking  much  about  Charlie  Chaplin 
in  those  days ;  I  was  thinking  of  his  work  and 
his  success  and  his  growing  bank-account. 

I  had  come  into  the  business  at  the  height  of 
its  first  big  success.  Fortunes  were  being  made 
overnight  in  it;  producers  could  not  turn  out 
film  fast  enough  to  satisfy  the  clamoring  pub- 
lic. The  studios  were  like  gambling  houses  in 
the  wild  fever  of  play.  ]Money  was  nothing; 
it  was  thrown  away  by  hundreds,  by  thousands. 
"Give  us  the  film,  give  us  the  film!  To  hell 
with  the  expense!"  was  the  cry.  I  heard  of 
small  tailors,  of  street-car  motormen,  who  had 
got  into  the  game  with  a  few  hundred  dollars 
and  now  were  millionaires.  In  six  months  I 
was  smiling  at  my  early  notion  of  making  fifty 
thousand  dollars. 

Sidney,  who  was  still  in  vaudeville,  came  to 
Los  Angeles  about  that  time,  and  I  met  him  at 
the  train  with  one  of  the  company's  big  auto- 
mobiles.    The  same  old  reliable  Sidney  witH 

230 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWX  STORY 

his  sound  business  sense.  He  had  figured  out 
the  trend  of  affairs  and  was  already  neffotiat- 
ing  with  the  Essanay  company  for  a  good 
contract  with  them,  going  deUberately  into  the 
work  I  had  hlmidered  into  by  accident. 

"There's  a  fortune  in  this  if  it's  handled 
right,  Charlie,"  he  said. 

"A  fortune?  If  this  holds  out,  if  I  can 
keep  up  my  popularity,  I'll  have  a  cool  half 
million  before  I  quit,  my  lad !  Keep  your  eye 
piped  for  your  Uncle  Charlie  I"  I  said  gaily. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

In  which  I  see  myself  as  others  see  me ;  learn  many  sur- 
prising things  about  myself  from  divers  sources ; 
and  see  a  bright  future  ahead. 

Sid  laughed. 

"Well,  have  it  your  way,  old  top!"  he  said. 
"What  will  you  do  when  you  get  your  half 
million?'* 

"Do?  I'll  quit.  I'll  be  satisfied,"  I  said. 
"You  can't  keep  'em  coming  forever,  and  I 
don't  expect  it.  I'll  give  them  the  best  I  have 
as  long  as  I  can,  and  then — curtains!  But  I 
wager  we  keep  out  of  the  Actor's  Home, 
what?" 

Sid  laughed  again.  "There's  money  in  the 
movies,  Charlie,"  he  said.  "Half  a  million? 
You  wait  a  year.  Your  popularity  hasn't  be- 
gun." 

He  was  right.  In  a  world  where  so  many 
people  are  troubled  and  unliappy,  where 
women  lead  such  dreary  lives  as  my  mother 
did  when  I  was  a  boy,  where  men  spend  their 
days  in  hard  unwilling  toil  and  children  starve 
as  I  starved  in  the  London  slums,  laughter  is 

232 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

precious.  People  want  to  laugh ;  they  long  to 
forget  themselves  for  half  an  hour  in  the  hearty- 
joy  of  it.  Every  night  on  a  hundred  thousand 
motion-picture  screens  my  floppy  shoes  and 
tricky  cane  and  eloquent  mustache  were  mak- 
ing people  laugh,  and  they  remembered  them 
and  came  to  laugh  again.  Suddenly,  almost 
overnight,  Charlie  Chaplin  became  a  fad,  a 
craze. 

ISIy  first  idea  of  it  came  one  night  when  I 
was  returning  from  a  hard  day's  work  at  the 
studio.  It  had  been  a  hot  day;  I  had  worked 
thirteen  hours  in  a  mask  of  grease  paint  under 
the  blazing  heat  of  tlie  Southern  California 
sun  intensified  by  a  dozen  huge  reflectors  be- 
fore the  inexorable  click-click-click  of  the 
camera,  driven  by  the  necessity  of  finishing  the 
reel  while  the  light  lasted.  My  exuberance  of 
spirit  had  waned  by  noon;  by  four  o'clock  I 
was  driving  myself  by  sheer  will-power, 
doggedly,  determinedly  being  funny.  At 
seven  we  finished  the  reel.  At  nine  we  had  got 
the  film  in  shape  in  the  negative  room,  and  I 
had  nothing  to  do  till  next  morning  but  get  my 
ideas  together  for  a  new  comedy. 

233 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWX  STORY 

I  was  slumped  in  a  heap  in  the  tonneau  of 
the  director's  car  hurrying  to  my  hotel  -and 
thinking  that  the  American  system  of  built-in 
baths  had  its  advantages,  when  we  ran  up  to  a 
crowd  that  almost  stopped  street  traffic.  The 
sidewalk  was  jammed  for  half  a  block;  men 
were  standing  up  in  automobiles  to  get  a  better 
view  of  whatever  was  happening.  ^ly  chauf- 
feur stopped. 

"What's  the  row?"  I  asked  one  of  the  men 
in  the  crowd. 

"Charlie  Chaplin's  in  there!"  he  said  excit- 
edly, jumping  on  the  running-board  and  cran- 
ing his  neck  to  look  over  the  heads  of  the  men 
in  front  of  him. 

"Really?"  I  said.  I  stood  up  and  looked. 
There  in  front  of  a  moving-picture  theater  was 
Charlie  Chaplin,  sure  enough — shoes,  baggy 
trousers,  mustache  and  all.  The  chap  was 
walking  up  and  down  as  well  as  he  could  in  the 
jam  of  people,  twirling  his  cane  and  tripping 
over  his  shoes.  Policemen  were  trying  to  clear 
the  sidewalk,  but  the  crowd  was  mad  for  a 
glimpse  of  him.  I  stood  there  looking  at  him 
with  indescribable  emotions. 

"That's  funny,"  I  said  after  a  minute.  The 
234 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

man  on  the  running-board  had  only  half  heard 
me. 

"Funny?  I  should  say  he  is!  He's  the 
funniest  man  in  America!"  he  said.  "They 
say  he  gets  a  hundred  dollars  a  day  and  only 
works  when  he's  stewed." 

"Well,  weU!    Really!"  I  said. 

"I  guess  that's  right,  too,"  he  went  on.  "He 
acts  like  it  on  the  screen,  don't  he  ?  Say,  have 
you  seen  his  latest  picture?  ^lan,  it's  a  knock- 
out! A'NHien  he  fell  into  that  sewer — !  They 
faked  the  sewer,  of  course,  but  say — !  I  like 
to  of  fell  out  of  my  seat !" 

We  had  not  faked  the  sewer.  It  was  a 
thoroughly  real  sewer.  Rut  I  drove  on  to  my 
hotel  without  explaining.  The  whole  situation 
was  too  complex. 

Within  a  week  half  the  motion-picture  houses 
in  Los  Angeles  had  tlie  only  original  and 
genuine  Charlie  Chaplin  parading  up  and 
down  before  them.  I  grew  so  accustomed  to 
meeting  myself  on  the  street  that  I  started  in 
surprise  every  time  I  looked  into  a  mirror  with- 
out my  make-up.  Overniglit,  too,  a  thousand 
little  figures  of  Charlie  Chaplin  in  plaster 
sprang  up  and  crowded  the  shop  windows.    I 

235 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

could  not  buy  a  tooth-brush  without  reaching 
over  a  counter  packed  with  myself  to  do  it. 

It  was  odd,  walking  up  and  down  the  streets, 
eating  in  cafes,  hearing  Charlie  Chaplin  talked 
about,  seeing  Charlie  Chaplin  on  every  hand 
and  never  being  recognized  as  Charlie  Chaplin. 
I  had  a  feeling  that  all  the  world  was  cross- 
eyed, or  that  I  was  a  disembodied  spirit.  But 
that  did  not  last  long.  A  plague  of  reporters 
descended  on  the  studios  soon,  like  whatever  it 
was  that  fell  upon  Egypt.  Then  the  world 
seemed  more  topsy-turvy  than  ever,  for  here 
I  was,  an  actor,  dodging  reporters ! 

Not  that  I  have  any  dislike  of  reporters. 
Indeed,  in  the  old  days  I  asked  nothing  better 
than  to  get  one  to  listen  to  me  and  often 
planned  for  days  to  capture  one's  attention. 
But  that's  another  of  life's  little  jokes.  A  man 
who  tries  hard  enough  for  anything  will  always 
get  it — after  he  has  stopped  wanting  it. 

I  had  to  turn  out  the  film,  hundreds  of  feet 
of  it  every  week,  and  it  must  be  made  while  the 
light  lasted.  The  gambhng  fever  had  spent 
itself  in  the  picture  business;  directors  were 
beginning  to  count  costs.  To  stop  my  company 
half  an  hour  meant  a  waste  of  several  hundred 

236 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

dollars.  And  every  morning  half  a  dozen  re- 
porters waited  for  me  to  give  them  "Just  a  few 
minutes,  Mr.  Chaplin!" 

I  took  to  dodging  in  and  out  of  the  studio 
like  a  hunted  man.  Did  I  stop  to  give  a  harried 
and  unwary  opinion  upon  something  I  knew 
nothing  whatever  about,  next  Sunday  I  beheld 
with  staring  eyes  a  full-page  story  on  my 
early  life,  told  in  the  first  person.  At  last,  in 
the  pressure  of  getting  out  two  new  comedies 
in  a  hurry,  I  escajped  interviews  for  nearly  three 
weeks.  We  were  working  overtime ;  it  was  late 
in  the  fall,  when  the  weather  was  uncertain  and 
the  light  bad.  We  would  start  at  five  in  the 
morning  to  get  to  our  "location"  in  the  country 
by  smirise,  only  to  have  the  morning  foggy. 
Then  we  hurried  back  to  the  studio  to  work 
under  artificial  light,  and  the  afternoon  was 
sunny.  It  was  a  hard  nerve-racking  three 
weeks  and  our  tempers  were  not  improved 
when,  at  the  end  of  the  last  day,  we  tried  out 
the  negative  as  usual  and  found  the  camera  had 
leaked  light  and  ruined  nearly  a  reel  of  film. 

Hurrying  oiF  the  stage  to  get  a  qyick  sup- 
per, so  tliat  I  could  return  and  make  up  as 
mucli  lost  time  as  possible  that  night,  I  en- 

237 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY; 

countered  on  the  studio   steps   a  thin  young 
man  in  a  derby,  who  did  not  recognize  me. 

"Say,  is  it  true  Chaplin's  crazy?"  he  asked. 

"Crazy?"  I  said. 

"Yes.  He  hasn't  released  a  film  for  over  a 
month  and  I  can't  get  hold  of  him  here.  They 
say  he's  raving  crazy,  confined  in  an  asylum." 

"He  is  not,"  I  said.  Then  the  humor  of  the 
thing  struck  me.  "He  isn't  violent  yet,"  I  said, 
"but  he  may  be,  any  minute." 

Half  an  hour  later  two  morning  papers  tele- 
phoned the  director  for  confirmation  of  the 
report,  which  he  denied  emphatically  and  pro- 
fanely. No  story  appeared  in  the  papers,  but 
I  have  since  been  solemnly  told  by  a  hundred 
people  who  "have  it  straight"  that  Chaplin  is, 
or  has  been,  confined  in  the  California  Hospital 
for  the  Insane. 

Behind  all  this  flurry  of  comment  and  con- 
jecture I  was  working,  working  hard,  turning 
out  the  best  film  I  could  devise,  with  my  mind 
always  on  the  problem  of  getting  that  deep, 
hearty  chuckle  from  the  audience.  I  did  not 
always  get  it,  but  I  did  get  laughs.  And  my 
contract  with  the  Kej^-stone  company  was  run- 
ning out;  I  saw  still  brighter  prospects  ahead. 

288 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

In  which  the  moving-picture  work  palls  on  me;  I 
make  other  plans,  am  persuaded  to  abandon  them 
and  am  brought  to  the  brink  of  a  deal  in  high 
finance. 

The  reorganization  among  the  producers  of 
motion  pictures,  which  followed  the  era  of 
mushroom  companies  sprung  up  overnight, 
making  fabulous  fortunes,  wildly,  in  the  first 
scramble  for  quick  profits  and  going  down 
again  in  the  general  chaos,  was  still  under  w^ay 
when  my  contract  with  the  Keystone  company 
expired. 

Millions  of  laughs,  resounding  every  night 
in  hundreds  of  moving-picture  theaters  had  set 
producers  to  bidding  for  me.  I  received  offers 
of  incredible  sums  from  some  companies ;  lavish 
promises  of  stock  from  others.  The  situation, 
I  felt,  required  the  mind  of  a  financier.  I 
called  in  ^Sidney. 

After  a  great  deal  of  consideration,  we  de- 
cided to  accept  the  offer  of  the  Essanay  com- 

239 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

pany,  as  combining'  in  due  proportion  size  of 
salary  and  security  of  its  payment.  ]My  con- 
tract called  for  a  thousand  dollars  a  day,  also 
a  percentage  on  my  jSlms. 

A  thousand  dollars  a  day!  Two  hundred 
pounds  every  twenty-four  hours!  At  the 
moment  of  signing  the  contract  a  feeling  of 
unreality  came  over  me.  It  seemed  incredible. 
Only  five  years  ago  I  had  been  cockily  con- 
gratulating myself  on  wringing  ten  pounds  a 
week  from  Carno ! 

I  returned  to  Los  Angeles  in  the  highest 
spirits  and  set  to  work  again.  A  small  com- 
pany, three  actors  and  a  score  of  "supers,'* 
was  got  together  for  me.  The  stage,  a  rough 
board  structure  large  enough  for  a  dozen 
**sets,"  built  near  the  bridge  of  the  street  rail- 
way between  Los  Angeles  and  Pasadena,  was 
tm-ned  over  to  me  and  my  company.  Here, 
on  a  little  side  street  of  tumble-down  sheds  half 
buried  in  tangles  of  dusty  woods,  I  shut  myself 
in  behind  the  high  wooden  wall  of  the  studio 
through  the  long  hot  summer  and  worked  at 
being  funny. 

Every  morning,  as  soon  as  the  light  was 
right  for  the  pictures,  I  arrived  at  the  studio 

240 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

and  got  into  my  make-up,  racking  my  brain 
the  while  for  a  funny  idea.  The  company  stood 
waiting  in  the  white-hot  glare  of  the  big  canvas 
reflectors;  the  camera  was  ready;  at  the  other 
end  of  the  long-distance  wire  the  company 
clamored  for  film,  more  film  and  still  more.  I 
must  go  out  on  the  stage  and  be  funny,  be 
funny  as  long  as  the  light  lasted. 

"The  whole  thing's  in  your  hands,  Chaplin,'" 
the  managers  said  cheerfully.  "Give  us  the 
film,  that's  all  we  ask." 

I  gave  them  the  film.  All  day  long, 
tumbling  down-stairs,  falling  into  lakes,  collid- 
ing with  moving  vans,  upsetting  stepladders, 
sitting  in  pails  of  wall-paper  paste,  I  heard  it 
click-click-clicking  joast  the  camera  shutter. 
At  night,  in  the  negative  room,  I  checked  and 
cut  and  revised  it.  And  all  the  time  I  searched 
my  mind  for  funny  ideas. 

Now,  nothing  in  the  world  Is  more  rare  than 
an  idea,  except  a  funny  idea.  The  necessity  of 
working  out  a  new  one  every  day,  the  responsi- 
bility of  it  and  the  labor  so  wore  upon  me  that 
by  fall  I  had  come  to  a  stern  determination.  I 
would  leave  the  moving  pictures.  I  would 
leave  them  as  soon  as  I  had  a  million  dollars. 

241 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORYi 

"If  this  keeps  up  another  year  I  will  be  a 
millionaire,"  I  said  to  myself  one  evening, 
lying  on  the  cement  floor  of  the  basement  set, 
where  I  had  gone  in  my  search  for  a  cool  spot 
to  rest.  "Then  I'll  quit.  I  will  quit  and  write 
a  book.  I  never  have  written  a  book,  and  I 
might  as  well.  But  not  a  funny  book.  Ye 
gods,  no!'* 

After  all,  I  had  had  my  share  of  the  lime- 
light, as  I  had  always  known,  even  in  my  worst 
days,  that  I  would  some  day.  I  had  made  my 
success  on  the  legitimate  stage  with  William 
Gillette.  I  had  made  my  success  and  my 
money  in  the  moving  pictures  in  America.  I 
was  still  in  my  twenties.  "S^Hiy  not  leave  the 
stage  altogether,  settle  down  on  some  snug 
little  ranch  and  write?  It  might  be  jolly  fun 
to  be  an  author.    By  jove,  I'd  do  it! 

My  arrangement  with  the  Essanay  people 
had  been  for  only  a  year — Sidney's  prudent 
idea.  The  contract  was  expiring  in  a  few 
months;  already  I  was  receiving  ojBfers  from 
other  companies.  I  would  refuse  them  all; 
yes,  I  would  quit  with  less  than  a  million  dol- 
lars. Three-quarters  of  a  million  would  be 
plenty.    Lying  there  on  the  cool  cement  floor, 

242 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

still  in  my  baggy  trousers,  with  the  grease 
paint  on  my  face,  I  stretched  my  legs  and 
waggled  my  floppy  shoes  contentedly.  Jove, 
the  relief  of  never  being  funny  again! 

"Charlie,  old  boy,  don't  be  a  gory  idiot  I"  Sid 
protested,  when  I  told  him  my  project.  "Why, 
you  can  make  a  fortune  at  this.  Hutchinson, 
of  the  INIutual,  is  in  town  right  now;  I  was 
talking  to  him  last  night.  They'll  make  you  an 
offer — you  can  get  fifty  ofl'ers  that  will  beat 
an}i:hing  you've  dreamed  about.  You  can  be 
the  highest-paid  movie  actor  in  the  world." 

"What's  a  million  more  or  less,  old  man?" 
I  said  airily,  though  I  began  to  waver.  "I've 
made  my  pile.    I  want  to  write  a  book.'* 

"How  do  you  know  you  can  write  a  book?" 
Sidney  returned.  "Of  all  the  bally  rot !  D'you 
want  to  go  oiF  somewhere  and  never  be  heard 
of  again?  Or  have  you  got  another  notion 
that  William  Gillette's  going  to  take  you  to 
America?" 

It  was  the  first  time  Sidney  had  ever  men- 
tioned tliat  affair  since  the  day  he  had  bought 
me  clothes  and  so  got  me  out  of  the  T^ondon 
hospital  and  taken  me  home.  I  had  told  him 
all  about  it  then. 

243 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

It  struck  me  he  was  probably  right.  It  has 
been  my  experience  that  he  usually  is. 

"All  right,"  I  said.  "Your  contract's  up 
with  the  Essanay,  too.  Come  over  and  manage 
things  for  me  and  I'll  stay  with  the  moving 
pictures." 

He  agreed  and  we  began  to  consider  which 
company  I  should  choose.  The  moving-picture 
business  is  standardized  now;  a  few  big  com- 
panies practically  divide  the  field  between 
them.  The  various  departments  of  the  work 
have  been  segregated  also,  a  producing  com- 
pany turning  its  films  over  to  a  releasing 
company  which  markets  them.  AVliat  we  most 
desired  was  to  make  a  connection  with  a  big 
releasing  company,  since  if  I  got  a  percentage 
of  the  profits  which  we  meant  to  stand  out  for, 
the  marketing  of  the  films  was  most  important. 

I  felt  greatly  relieved  when  my  contract 
expired  and  I  drove  away  from  the  studio  for 
the  last  time,  free  for  some  wrecks  from  the 
obligation  of  being  funny.  Sidney  was  busily 
negotiating  with  several  companies,  consider- 
ing their  offers  and  their  advantages  from  our 
view-point.  I  was  idle  and  care-free ;  I  might 
do  what  I  liked.    I  whistled  cheerfully  to  my- 

24^ 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

self,  swinging  my  cane  as  I  walked  down  to 
dinner  that  night,  facing  the  prospect  before 
me  with  happy  anticipation. 

In  a  week  I  discovered  that  the  one  thing  I 
most  wanted  to  do  was  to  be  acting.  A  thou- 
sand bright  ideas  for  comedy  situations  rushed 
into  my  mind ;  I  longed  to  put  on  my  make-up 
again,  to  smell  the  piny  odor  of  the  studio  in 
the  hot  sun,  to  hear  the  click  of  the  camera.  I 
looked  regretfully  at  the  old  signs  on  the  movie 
theaters;  no  new  Chaplin  pictures  were  being 
released.    I  was  eager  to  be  back  at  work. 

Each  night  I  discussed  more  eagerly  with 
Sidney  the  different  companies  we  were  con- 
sidering. At  last,  after  a  great  many  talks 
with  INIr.  Hutchinson,  w^e  privately  decided  on 
the  ]Mutual  as  offering  the  best  advantages. 
This  decision,  however,  we  prudently  refrained 
from  mentioning  until  after  'Mr.  Caulfield,  the 
personal  representative  of  the  jNIutual's  presi- 
dent, ]\Ir.  Freuler,  should  come  to  Los  Angeles 
and  make  us  a  definite  money  offer. 

T'dr.  Caulfield  promptly  arrived,  and  Sidney 
undertook  the  negotiations  with  him,  keeping 
me  in  reserve  to  bring  up  at  the  proper  time. 
I  relied  a  great  deal  upon    Sidney;    I   knew 

245 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

myself  entirely  capable  in  handling  theatrical 
managers,  but  I  had  greater  confidence  in  Sid- 
ney's handling  of  business  men.  I  awaited 
somewhat  nervously  my  share  in  the  arrange- 
ments. 

One  night  my  cue  came.  Sidney  telephoned 
up  from  down-stairs.  "I'm  bringing  Caulfield 
up,"  he  said.  "He  offers  ten  thousand  a  week 
and  royalties.  I'm  holding  out  for  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  dollars  bonus  on  sign- 
ing the  contract.  Stick  at  that  if  you  can,  but 
whatever  you  do,  don't  take  less  than  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  thousand  dollars." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

In  which  I  see  success  in  my  grasp;  proudly  con- 
sider the  heights  to  which  I  have  chmbed;  and 
receive  an  unexpected  shock. 

Sidney  came  in  a  moment  later,  bringing  INIr. 
Caiilfield.  Like  Mr.  Hutchinson,  like,  indeed, 
most  of  the  men  handling  the  affairs  of  the  big 
motion-picture  corporations,  Mr.  Caulfield  is 
a  keen,  quick-witted  business  man.  Producing 
and  selling  moving-picture  films  is  now  a  busi- 
ness as  matter  of  fact  as  dealing  in  stocks  and 
bonds ;  there  is  nothing  of  the  theatrical  man- 
ager about  the  men  who  control  it. 

"Well,  Mr.  Chaplin,  your  brother  and  I 
have  been  reaching  an  agreement  about  your 
contract  with  us,"  he  said  briskly.  "We  will 
give  you  a  salary  of  ten  thousand  dollars  a  week 
and  royalties  that  should  double  that  figure." 
He  mentioned  the  per  cent,  agreed  upon,  as  I 
assented. 

"]\Iore  than  tliat,  we  are  planning  to  create 
a  separate  producing  company,  subsidiary  to 

247 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

the  JMutual,  which  will  be  its  releasing  com- 
pany, and  to  call  the  new  concern  the  Lone 
Star  company — you  to  be  the  lone  star.  The 
new  company  will  build  its  own  studios  at 
Santa  Barbara,  and  it  will  give  you  the  finest 
supporting  cast  that  money  can  hire."  He 
mentioned  a  few  of  the  actors  he  had  in  mind, 
and  I  agreed  heartily  to  his  suggestions.  They 
were  good  actors ;  I  knew  I  could  do  good  work 
with  them. 

"That  is  the  offer  as  it  stands,'*  he  concluded. 
"Half  a  million  dollars  in  salary,  another  half- 
million,  probably,  in  royalties.  That  depends 
on  the  amount  of  film  the  Lone  Star  company 
turns  out.  We'll  give  you  every  facility  for 
producing  it;  the  JNIutual  will  handle  the  re- 
leases. We  will  be  ready  to  start  work  as  soon 
as  you  sign  the  contract." 

"Then,"  I  said  pleasantly,  "we  need  only 
decide  the  amount  of  the  bonus  to  be  paid  me 
for  signing  it." 

"Frankly,  Mr.  Chaplin,  I  am  not  authorized 
to  offer  you  a  bonus,"  he  replied.  "We  don't 
do  that.  And  we  feel  that  in  organizing  your 
own  company,  building  studios,  giving  you 
such  a  supporting  cast,  we  are  doing  all  that 

248 


"\\  lial  do  \oti  know  alioiit  that?" 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

is  possible,  in  addition  to  the  record-breaking 
salary  and  royalties  we  are  willing  to  pay  you." 

"On  the  other  hand,  you  must  consider  that 
I  have  other  ofTers,"  I  answered.  "Frankly, 
also,  I  imagine  the  size  of  the  bonus  paid  me 
will  decide  vrhich  company  I  choose.  I  want 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand.  We  both 
know  I  am  worth  it  to  any  company." 

It  was  a  deadlock.  The  old  thrill  of  my 
dealing  with  Carno  came  back  to  me  while  we 
talked.  In  the  end  he  left,  the  matter  still  un- 
decided. 

There  were  many  interviews  after  that.  I 
still  believe  that  it  might  have  been  possible,  by 
holding  out  longer,  to  get  that  amount,  but  I 
was  eager  to  begin  work  again,  and  besides,  as 
IMr.  Caulfield  pointed  out,  the  sooner  we  began 
releasing  films  the  sooner  the  royalties  would 
begin  coming  in. 

In  the  end  we  compromised  on  a  cash  bonus 
of  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and 
an  agreement  on  my  part  to  secure  the  com- 
pany for  tliat  payment  by  allowing  them  to 
insure  my  life  for  Iialf  a  million  dollars.  We 
made  application  for  the  insurance  })olicy  and 
I  was  examined  by  the  insurance   company's 

249 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

physician,  so  that  there  might  be  no  delay  in 
closing  the  arrangements  with  the  Mutual  and 
beginning  work. 

"Fit  as  a  fiddle,  sir;  fit  as  a  fiddle !"  the  doctor 
said,  thumping  my  chest.  He  felt  the  muscles 
of  my  arms  approvingly.  "Outdoor  life,  out- 
door life  and  exercise,  they're  the  best  medicine 
in  the  world.  What  is  your  occupation,  sir,  if 
I  may  ask?"  • 

"I'm  a  sort  of  rough-and-tumble  acrobat," 
I  said.    "A  moving-picture  actor." 

"Well,  bless  my  soul!  Chaplin,  of  course! 
I  didn't  get  the  name.  Yes,  yes,  I  see  the  re- 
semblance now.  I'm  glad  to  meet  you,  sir. 
That  last  comedy  of  yours — when  you  fell  into 
the  lake — "    He  chuckled. 

In  great  good  spirits,  then,  we  set  out  for 
New  York,  where  the  contract  was  to  be  signed 
by  Mr.  Freuler  and  myself  and  the  final  de- 
tails settled. 

Ten  years  ago  I  had  been  a  starving  actor 
on  the  Strand,  a  percocious  youngster  with  big 
dreams  and  an  empty  stomach.  Now  I  was  on 
my  way  to  New  York  and  a  salary  of  five  hun- 
dred and  twenty  thousand  dollars  a  year.  Then 
I  had  been  hungry  for  the  slightest  recognition ; 

250 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  had  schemed  and  posed  and  acted  a  part  with 
every  one  I  met,  craving  a  glance  of  admira- 
tion or  envy  to  encourage  my  really  tremulous 
hopes  of  one  day  succeeding;  I  had  deceived 
myself  with  flattery  to  keep  up  my  spirits. 
Now  my  name  was  known  wherever  moving 
pictures  were  shown  throughout  the  world;  a 
million  hearty  laughs  applauded  me  every  day. 

I  felt  that  I  had  arrived  and  I  was  happy. 

From  New  York  I  hastened  to  cable  my 
mother  the  dazzling  news — my  poor,  pretty 
little  mother,  older  now  and  never  really  strong 
since  the  terrible  days  when  we  starved  together 
in  a  London  garret.  She  can  not  come  to 
America  because  she  can  not  stand  the  sea  trip, 
but  from  the  first  I  had  written  her  at  great 
length  about  my  tremendous  success,  and  when 
my  comedies  appeared  in  England  she  went  for 
the  first  time  to  the  cinema  houses,  and  wrote 
that  it  was  good  to  see  me  again  and  my  comedy 
work  was  splendid ;  she  was  proud  of  me. 

We  were  to  sign  the  contract  in  the  offices  of 
the  Mutual  company  in  New  York.  When  we 
stepped  into  that  suite  of  richly  furnished 
rooms,  to  be  ushered  at  once  into  the  presence 
of  the  president  of  this  multi-million-dollar 

251 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

parent  corporation,  I  had  one  fleeting  thought 
of  myself,  ten  years  before,  wearily  tramping 
the  Strand  from  agent's  office  to  agent's  office, 
the  scorn  of  the  grimiest  cockney  office  boy. 

The  curious  twists  and  turns  of  chance  in 
those  old  days  should  have  prepared  me  for 
the  shock  I  received  when  I  met  Mr.  Freuler, 
but  they  had  not  done  so.  I  felt  so  secure,  so 
satisfied  with  myself  and  the  world  as  I  stepped 
into  his  private  office. 

"I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Chaplin,"  he  said  when  Mr. 
Caulfield  had  introduced  us  and  we  were 
seated.  "I'm  afraid  there  will  be  a  hitch  in  the 
paying  of  that  bonus.  The  insurance  company 
has  refused  to  issue  your  policy." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

In  which  I  realize  my  wildest  dreams  of  fortune ;  pon- 
der on  the  comedy  tricks  of  life  and  conclude 
without  reaching  any  conclusion. 

"Refused  to  issue — impossible!"  I  cried,  start- 
ing in  my  chair.  With  the  swiftness  of  a  knife 
stab  I  saw  myself  stopped  at  the  very  moment 
of  my  greatest  success,  fighting,  struggling, 
hoping — and  dying  swiftly  of  some  inexorable, 
concealed  disease.  A^Hiy,  I  had  never  felt  bet- 
ter in  my  life ! 

"Yes,  we  received  their  refusal  only  this 
morning.  On  account  of  your  extra-hazardous 
occupation  they  will  not  carry  a  policy  for  such 
a  large  sum,"  said  jNIr.  Freuler.  "I'm  sorry, 
but  I'm  afraid  it  will  hold  matters  up  until  we 
have  found  a  company  which  will  insure  you 
or  distributed  the  amount  among  a  number  of 
companies." 

I  lauglied.  I  felt  that  Fate  had  shot  her  last 
bolt  at  me  and  missed.  Extra -liazardous,  of 
course!  I  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  staff 
of  nurses  waiting  at  every  large  studio  during 

253 


CHAKLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

thrilling  scenes.  I  had  trained  myself  by  long 
practise  to  come  comically  through  every  dan- 
gerous mishap  with  as  little  danger  of  broken 
bones  as  possible.  That  was  part  of  the  work 
of  being  funny. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  I  said.  "What  shall  we  do 
to  arrange  the  matter?" 

It  was  a  question  which  occupied  our 
thoughts  for  several  days.  No  large  company 
would  insure  my  life  against  the  hazards  of  my 
comedies.  We  did,  however,  finally  hit  upon  a 
way  of  solving  the  problem,  and  at  last,  worth 
nearly  half  a  million  dollars  to  the  ^Mutual 
company  if  I  died  and  much  more  if  I  lived,  I 
signed  the  contract  and  received  my  check  for 
one  hundred  and.  fifty  thousand  dollars. 

I  did  it,  as  was  fitting,  to  the  sound  of  a 
clicking  camera,  for  the  JMutual  company,  with 
great  enterprise,  filmed  the  event,  that  audi- 
ences the  world  over  might  see  me  in  my  proper 
person,  wielding  the  fateful  pen.  It  was  a 
moment  during  which  I  should  have  felt  a  de- 
gree of  emotion,  that  moment  at  which  the  pen 
point,  scrawling  "Charles  Chaplin,"  made  me 
worth  another  million  dollars.  But  the  click- 
click-cllck  of  the  camera  as  the  operator  turned 

254 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

the  crank  made  the  whole  thing  unreal  to  me. 
I  was  careful  only  to  register  the  proper  ex- 
pression. 

*' Well — it's  finished.  What  about  your  half- 
million  now?"  Sidney  said  affectionately  when, 
my  copy  of  the  contract  safely  tucked  into  my 
breast  pocket,  we  set  off  down  the  street  to- 
gether. "You'll  quit,  will  you,  with  half  a 
million!  You'll  never  leave  the  moving  pic- 
tures, my  lad!" 

"Have  it  your  own  way,  old  scamp,'*  I  said. 
"You  would,  anyway.  Just  the  same  I  would 
like  to  write  a  book.  I  wager  I  could  do  it,  with 
half  a  chance.  By  the  way,  there's  another 
thing  I'd  like  to  do—" 

Then  I  had  all  the  pleasure  and  delight  of 
feeling  rich,  of  which  the  camera  had  robbed 
me  while  I  signed  my  contract.  At  last  I  had 
an  opportunity  to  repay  Sidney  the  money  part 
of  the  debt  I  have  owed  him  since  he  came  to 
my  rescue  so  many  times  when  we  were  boys. 
He  could  not  refuse  half  of  the  bonus  money 
which  he  had  worked  so  hard  to  get  for  me,  and 
that  check  for  seventy-five  thousand  dollars 
gave  me  more  pleasure  than  I  can  recall  receiv- 
ing from  any  other  money  I  have  ever  handled. 

255 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

So  I  came  back  to  the  Pacific  coast  to  begin 
my  work  with  the  ]Mutual  comx^any.  I  am  now 
an  assured  success  in  moving-picture  comedy 
work  and  I  am  most  proud  of  it.  There  is 
Igreat  cause  for  pride  in  keeping  thousands  of 
persons  laughing.  There  is  the  satisfaction, 
also,  of  having  attained,  through  lucky  chance 
and  accident,  the  goal  on  which  I  set  my  eyes 
so  many  years  ago. 

But  I  have  no  golden  rule  for  such  attain- 
ment to  offer  any  one.  I  have  worked — yes,  to 
the  limit  of  my  ability — but  so  have  many  other 
men  who  have  won  far  less  reward  than  I, 
Whether  you  call  it  chance,  fate  or  providence, 
to  my  mind  the  ruling  of  men's  lives  is  in  other 
hands  than  theirs. 

If  Sidney  had  not  returned  to  London  I 
might  have  become  a  thief  in  the  London 
streets.  If  William  Gillette  had  brought  me 
to  America  I  might  have  become  a  great  tragic 
actor.  If  the  explosion  in  the  glass  factory  had 
been  more  violent  I  might  have  been  buried  in 
a  pauper's  grave.  Now,  by  a  twist  of  public 
fancy,  which  sees  great  humor  in  my  best  work, 
and  less  in  the  best  work  of  other  men  who  are 
toiling  as  hard  as  I,  I  have  become  Charlie 

256 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWX  STORY 

Chaplin,  "the  funniest  man  in  America,"  and 
a  millionaire. 

What  rules  our  destinies  in  this  big  comedy, 
the  world?  I  do  not  know.  I  know  only  that 
it  is  good,  whatever  happens,  to  laugh  at  it. 

IMeantime,  I  am  working  on  a  new  comedy. 
I  am  always  working  on  a  new  comedy.  I  have 
a  whole  stage  to  myself,  a  stage  of  bare  new 
boards  that  smell  of  turpentine  in  the  hot  sun- 
shine, covered  with  dozens  of  sets — drawing- 
rooms,  bedrooms,  staircases,  basements,  roofs, 
fire-escapes,  laundries,  baker-shops,  barrooms 
■- — everything. 

As  soon  as  the  light  is  strong  enough  I 
arrive  in  my  big  automobile,  falling  over  the 
steps  when  I  get  out  to  amuse  the  chauffeur. 
I  coat  my  face  with  light  brown  paint,  paste 
on  my  mustache,  get  into  my  floppy  shoes, 
loop  my  trousers  up  about  my  waist,  clog-dance 
a  bit.  Then  the  camera  begins  to  click  and  I 
begin  to  be  funny.  I  enjoy  my  comedies;  they 
seem  the  funniest  things  on  earth  while  I  am 
playing  them.  I  laugli,  the  other  actors  laugli, 
the  director  fans  himself  with  his  straw  hat  and 
laughs ;  tlie  camera  man  chuckles  aloud. 

Dozens  of  ideas  pop  into  my  mind  as  I  play ; 
257 


CHARLIE  CHAPLIN'S  OWN  STORY 

I  play  my  parts  each  with  a  fresh  enthusiasm, 
changing  them,  inventing,  devising,  accident- 
ally producing  unexpected  effects,  carefully 
working  out  others,  enjoying  every  moment 
of  it. 

When  the  light  falls  in  the  evening  I  may 
sit  a  while,  for  coolness,  in  the  basement  set, 
where  the  glare  of  the  reflectors  has  not  beat 
all  day.  Then  sometimes  I  think  of  the  tricks 
fate  has  played  with  me  since  the  days  I  clog- 
danced  for  Mr.  Hawkins,  and  I  wonder  why 
and  what  the  meaning  of  it  all  may  be.  But  I 
never  decide. 


THE  END 


University  Ot  California.  Los  Angeles 


L  007  362  092  4 


RARY  FACILITY 


57    3 


Mlliil! 


iii 


